circle

I was thinking of deserting.
the army has its high points,
but the lulls, where my mind clouds over with confessional thoughts
of do they really require refrigerators
or couches stuffed solid with synthetics,
bring me no clarity.

Where we look out at the wasted electricity
that brings us temporary, fleeting, dwindling joys
in technicolour bright.
in the pages that line the streets, surely fuel for a fire
that could be ignited with collective intelligence
instead of a street creation of recycled mush under the
footprints we carelessly leave behind.
in our food, so fantastically over-served that the
burning-with-hope hippies invented freeganism to recoup
some sense of recognition of waste not, want not.

I was thinking of taking that green bag,
camouflaged under the excessive fashions and their wrinkles
at the bottom of my closet,
filling it with the fragmented fortitude I had built for me in
years of rhetorical education,
dashing out to the nearest transit centre
and abandoning this experiment or whatyoumacallit,
you know, the free world.

Instead,
I shall regale in quiet,
hope in spite of the darkened shadows on my theoretical tinge,
and savour the moments of sanctity preserved remarkably for me.

Callings come and go,
as would have I.
and for now, comfort rests in these phlegmatic eyes.