Experiences
withered in the viral consumption of doing
A
slide down the snowy-bank playground
An
airplane ride that has since returned you to your point of original departure
A
patch of tailored fabric you have outgrown shown with
The
subcutaneous fat spread from the slew
Of
menu-elected dining experiences prepared by immigrants
Molded
to your abdomen and clogging your way to the heart
Pumping
to impress females of glittering allotment whose stares
You
cannot magnetize for longer than a morsel
Of
dollar from wallet to time let aloft on digital accounts of ones chasing zeroes
The
management of expenditures, now what have you to show for it?
Time
banked of this was living; this was the essential asset of living
Your
brother is at home with his art frames on the wall still pondering their
ascetic lure
The
recorded music programmed into a storage house, he is able to listen and
re-listen
To
a show you attended and he did not, yet who hears it best again and again?
Your
brother with his notebooks of thoughts scribed and tomes of other authors read
Yet
the vault sits inside his head as your playground swings on the slopes
Fancy
in your own; who now is the champion of life?
Your
brother has learned to cook his beast on the spit and produce a garden
He
sleeps in a home free of debts and you pine over hotel receipts
The
surf and the sale price, the dreaming and the living, the call of the sun
Responding
with operas and orchestra sung as the mood strikes or planned over countless
moons
Yet
when does the singing ever come?
When
is the performance of reconciling doing with thinking?
Oh
the hoops of choosing a middle ground and the logical compromise of function
and flair?
Given
life, death seems far too simple approaching without clock or scale
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