Relative Something

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What if it was random writing?
Kind of like stream of consciousness
Only less organized
Not that some coherent thought
Would voluntarily show itself
A lot like the feeling you experience
When you are waiting for your ride
How many different versions
Of strictly rhetorical questions
Does it take to produce
A result so much less inspirational
Before the fabrication becomes
Entirely forged self evident
And the versions that evolve ensure
That self-conscious dash for the car
As if every eye was blatant aware
Saw each nuance and crack in veneer
With all judgment force then passed
Whole reputations effectively formed
Witness for defense denied
Reason most likely wronged
Imperceptibly darkness dawns
Light that was but a different shade
Suddenly burns bright the increased contrast
While still the line of cars
Fails to match the waiting heterogeneity
Though in transition
As slow as the evening falls
One seems to find the other
As if choreographed by fate
Until the lone straggler
Gets picked up late
And whisked to the next destination
Leaving solemn solace behind
To deal with all that remains
Of the questions
Which linger unasked
Hinting at perpetual
Ineffectual translation

©2001