Meditation Before the Maze

How does anyone meet anyone?

I have never felt more like Spock when entertaining this question

Greetings, posturing, the faces are a relative infinitude

There must be a filtering system

Primary of which is sexual attraction

However who one wishes to mate and who one wishes to converse

Are so often divergent characteristics and seeking to entwine the two

Is a conundrum given so little available data

Setting bears a placeholder of communication that one is unlikely to be in a place

If one is not receptive to being subjected to misinterpretations of one’s status

Such seems exhausting like knocking door to door to see if someone

Might wish to sell their domicile to a homeless person

Rather than a realty system of yard signs and internet postings

Wedding rings are like sold and cleavage is hocking open

What I would really like to discuss I know takes such time and probable foundational constructs

Which are apparently rare as is my yearning for them that I would prefer

The silence of the numb absolution of masquerading a mirror of apathy

As if the garden enjoys the basement’s lighting, the vitamin supplements are fine

Whatever was learned in sixth grade to senior year I apparently failed in the school yard

The principal demands my return and a truancy of internet-gaming tastes like the lager on draft

The alternatives are barstools of ambiguity, ordering, glaring around Frenchmen Street

For a darkness on the edge of maturity and contemplation beyond fabric and texting fixation

The turned-heads, the kids and tales, the spilt scotch and fairy wings clipped

Maybe if I could sit there and read and see who might perk fancy, but the light is low

Maybe this kindle will burn the forest of no shows

Of speaking past Hitchens and the voices of the dead

Trade a jacket pocket for a faith that things do not have to be on other’s terms

If I am the one who is to claim

This life, this space, this isolated raft for pioneering over resignation

To go through movement and be a contrarian as part of the crowd not as insult, but

As the genuine vehicle of a man who knows not who to speak, but is aware and confident

In what to say once the lane is apparent

For a body is doomed to walk the maze without the cartographer’s work

Better to mediate in the alcove than wander aimless, the monsters will find one first and oh what bites!