Trying Not to Have Bad Thoughts on Good Friday

Trying to make that connection,

or whatever

it is

I'm supposed to be thinking

about right

now.

Does anyone even know

anymore?

I don't.

So often, we say: it's a perfect day...

But only because

we want it

to be.

Trying to remember when

nothing mattered,

connected to feelings,

& nothing else,

Before feelings became

a cliche.

The bodies of clouds, thoughts

& longings, unfulfilled

dreams,

pass through the sky

above me

like slow-moving blimps,

advertising that today

is Good Friday.

But, so what, right? We all have

to die.

To be born

is to be sacrificed alive.

We've all been shown so much.

& yet, we've seen

very little.

Something pulls us --

You/me, one way or another,

while feverishly trying

to connect --

some of (if not all) -- the dots.