Wanderings untethered, no anchor or rode.
No time clock, no network; unchained chaos; a transient abode.
And in this sleep, its processed still;
hyper awareness of dream like nonsense.
Bouncing on and away, adrift in, on or against this host.
No regrets or resentment, just dream state or wake. Not till the end of ends can we see theres no mystery in past history.
As the can rolls down so empty, silent and free; along that gutter, so granite, so rigid, so locked up its linear jail.
Only then does it clank as it meets its opposite, bouncing music together; a polar opposite spontaneous percussionist duo.
Fated in destiny, blind, deaf and inanimate; we play. One chance, one take; no script, score or intentional audience.
Which is better, who ever knows?
The heavy slice of geologic rock, occasionally collecting detritus thinking they are friends. But anchored in cement with snow and rain channeling away company. The warming summer sun waiiting for unknowing rims to rash and tires to blow dreaming of empties to roll in from the free.
Or to be that trivial package that once held soda or beer; its owner discards you when the volume is gone; even the ants are no longer inside you drift or are scrapped. Then up with the breeze away into random; not knowing its lifespan but recycled again.
Alloy clans on their final unknown days.
To be so permanent with purpose, a demarcation of pavement and sidewalk. Stout and strong, always on duty, reflecting motionless; still.
Both lonely and lost, seeking meaning at all cost. Only when timing intercedes and revelation now clear; do we accept our solemn demise year after year. Recalling such adventures of magical accompaniment. A can surely will roll along a fixed curb stone again; neither not knowing it could have been the best experience they ever will have had.