experience is just not enough
sometimes it just feels vastly platitudinous
as a one-sided dialogue, launched
only hearing sidebars of inner earnestness supporting
as if in self response
echoing in the canyons of personal solitude
feeling for the vapid anguish
as hot breath leaving over muttered utterances
existing for now, as the ascendency of all-ears
wide open to any registry of other-worldly response
open to any omen as if as a reply
however my sensory environment is aware
experience, as but this audience provider,
is just not enough
not wanting a cloud-break
into instant sunlight appearance to justify
no exoneration as if to pacify
experience is just not contextually deep enough
miracles are just made-ups to mollify
any deeper truth is more than personally environmental
answers are just tongue-lashings to rationalize
still having needs beyond a symbolic coin toss
finding myself as an expanded parade of pleads
beyond my singular GPS location
faith is just a fabric of covering-up
experience is only the overrated override
as the audience wading in superficial plunder
the island of isolated witnessing
the harvest of bystanders’ rewards
the bible of memorization then retorts
wanting beyond the billboard of beliefs
experience is only the well lit room
of storyables recited repeatedly
feeling like an audience mishap as listening
caught in faith happenstance
as if all of life is pitched as
‘why’d the chicken cross the road’
for it seems that all of questions are just to mollify
and all of answers are destinies dimming
disguised as initially well lit
experience in receivership is that which euthanizes
where quandary is only a near-death
as if experience is the enterprise . . .
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