The Perplexity Age
By: Tyler Ross
brain is cluttered
no room were butterflies flutter
wings break and freedom is gone
no light left on
I’m weak I suppose
come running at the scent of my nose
dog-like instincts
no connection links
the moments that pass
I contemplate at last
the feelings warmed up inside
not real or is it really alive?
second guesses you force in me
absent and naïve to see
the extra hours I put in this
false hope clouds this fairy-tale bliss
smiles bolted in by factories
machines jammed only memories
remaining with tired open hands
rummaging colors over one particular crayon
built by wax too easy to break
a clock maneuvers at the bottom of the lake
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