Every Road Winds

As I stumble through the crush of inanity and this infinite throng of fools, expelled with a fresh beer in a sacrosanct white bag out upon the street, the absurd redundant loneliness impounds the cavernous echo of text messages amid a shimmering arc towards the unmet ether. If not entirely unwelcome, the big romantic fevers that have twisted a man’s vision into prior vanity slur, stumble, and otherwise gravitate towards a nostalgic light- a sense of knowledge and pride, of joy unrequited and that which begs not- for satisfaction is high, and nigh- and the mind, if not the soul, of a modern man is a finicky bitch full of deceit, ambiguity, and unceasing lust, though the story does shift. Illusions so sweet unfailingly reduce the years of the heart's neglect into little more than stamped tickets and wind-swept grains.