My mind is an ashtray

looking down the
barrel of futility,
scurrying those
of achievement.
negation of being,
present complexity,
counters our ancestors.
i accept the debris
of that disposed.
treasure found amonsgt
the discarded.
gold shines upon the eyes
of those who see.
i walk blind,
but specific light,
illuminating what’s been missed.
this luster emanates a bias brilliance
my intellect cannot fathom.
i speak what i feel,
yet what i feel
does not always speak.

Niceties better spent

the response was easy
noninvasive, prying the general
cost of reciprocation limited
to effort given.
or not.
response is a choice,
so why am i surprised?
maybe it’s because those
i’ve thanked, wished well,
or commented, have generally
responded in a similar fashion.
genuine or not,
i was met half way.
disregard an extended hand,
i now reach for my balls.
i might as well scratch
an itch than gain a lawsuit.