the fingerprints of all weigh on our minds

the laughter of time and so called

destiny fills us with hope ...


without words of protest we follow

the rituals and ceremonial diseases

cultivated by our ancestors...


clever nuances of imagination are

added the fringe of the collective old

scowl at the new...


rushing for normality in a sea of plastic

we bend like rubber to squeeze the hope

of tradition never really knowing the truth