Destined to be past repetition
of that inanity assailing us, I ponder
meanings of conditional consciousness
in nutshells still uncracked.
*
All this while doing my laundry
on a hazy mid-summer’s day,
for a moment apart from the unseen
aberrations waiting for us all.
*
Far from California wildfires
or relentless Southern hurricanes
plunging their wrath into the land,
*
I wonder if “I” exists
as a definite
singular entity imprisoned
in cold-hearted
*
Flesh & bone crafted by natural selection
of higher beings, then continue
washing my well-worn clothes
*
in a laundry room where everything
is either broken or about to be,
perhaps like human beings
philosophizing over suds?
*
Old clothes may come clean,
but our hands will never be.
*
About the Author:
Peter Magliocco has lived & worked in Las Vegas, Nevada for over 20 years, and has recent poetry at TRYST, HEELTAP, INTERPOETRY, et al. He received a Pushcart nomination in ’07 for his novel, transeXotica … His art/poetry book, Ex Literotica, was released in ’06 by Publish America
