hide behind half sighs,
when people try to sort It out.
Hopeless meander’s got you down?
Pass through the Gates of No Where with a scream.
Sit behind the eyes; look at the screen.
The shopping spree begins—
sort out the dreams.
Pile all you can into a cart and smile.
The Jaded Game will last for but a while.
Or you can be a straw man cast by mold,
with The Philosopher’s Alibi Why you can behold,
the Glass Bead Game inside the skull,
where transparent abstractions you can mull, and become,
Rodin’s Thinking Man undone.
Look at me, and then yourself.
Feel the warmness of my breath.
The rhythm of my pulse,
flesh and blood like you.
In all important ways alike,
we are all the same.
We’re born and live and breathe, and die,
and play the Jaded Game.