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By J. Lenore

To all those who fall
Lost in the windless sky
without wings or wires
or even a pillowcase
parachute
to stop the descent
into mundanity
and the deadly comfort
of waiting to get old
for those who whisper
"I could be something
if the couch weren't so
soft and the world so big,"
and hold their hands out
for a new crutch and
an aspirin
I ask
How do we get up,
break free of this sticky
web of a world we've
created,
climb back to where
the sun gives us wrinkles
our backs ache
our hands are dirty
but we're happy...?
How do we become
real
and escape this
resting inertia?