there is something in a nice leisurely stroll
which is utterly absurd,                        the toll of time spent
in a pursuit that is purposely going nowhere,
dare I say that there is something to the sheer excess of the event
its play and its lightness,       its way of expressing so much
with so few gestures,
I believe that this is the greatest crime of our century
that we are no longer connected to this wandering
this aimless pondering of reality
the expression of the gaze that seeks for the sheer hell of it
the man whose cloths reek with smell of afternoon flowers
for he has spent hours, enraptured with nothing at all
everyone needs to walk in a circle
like the wind that indiscriminately scatters seeds
we need to avoid being so busy with life that in a rush
the most important things get pushed aside in speech
the reach of language and ideas goes only so far
we need to make a space that throws aside all pretense
and spends time for fun and runs in delight
in a hasty flight from the boredom of routine
everyone needs to walk in a circle.