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 Maglioccohas 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