Going through life ridiculous,

Feeling like a clown on a bike,

All my ungainly limbs

akimbo as we speak.


Facial muscles fail me,

They don’t correspond

with my thoughts,

Or compliment my sentiments.


The words we utter

neither seem to serve.

They run from our mouths

and fall in front of us.

Like lost property.


What is it we want ?

Is it accuracy

Specificity?  An impressive

appearance of aptitude?


Even our intentions are elusive.

This wanting or lamenting

will lead us nowhere if

we let them run away with us.


Then we’ll trip and fall,

and fall again,

lurching through life

and losing ourselves

in all its puddles,

‘Till we come to its full