Random Beats

Look at them stepping
in straight lines, staying
along certain paths, ignoring
the moon, blind to the stars.

They try to find their spots
to sit -pre-designated areas to plant
their feet, fingers branching for
color coded buttons.
Footprint on footprint.
-running toward the fire.

They’re asking questions,
with the intent of receiving
selectively formed sentences
holding their non-existent meanings.

I want to say,
“I can’t help you.”

They think they belong somewhere.
They suppress thoughts
believing they are
the only ones.

"You aren't any sneakier than those around you."

Their eyes looking for meaning in faces,
ears scouring the air for symbolic sounds,
and legs ready to run.

Their sober spines about to twist,
mouths desiring to kiss,
and their thoughts waiting to race.

"What are you waiting for?"

I could yell and scream the lack of meaning;
I could stomp and break things
for eternity before they would hear me.

My fingers dream
to pull them from their trance;
my feet yearn to dance, and dance, and dance
-until their souls join in.

Glowing orbs flickering in concentric circles
eventually floating into comfortable chaotic courses
determining their new lines
-or lack there of.

They would then know that they had not once knew.
They would then see that they had not once saw.
They would then understand that there is no understanding.

I would have saved their time,
I would have changed the world,
if only their souls would dance
to the unintended and undetermined
beat of chaos.