there’s nothing thrown so worse
than to think yourself a fine grade
only to grip at a point in a later time
your way off, the ticks were weighted
looking back down the oval centuries
at the items of stock that my mind carts
it seems clearer than this place I fly
I was so sure didn’t exist, it did, its sky smarts
back when the world was akin to the gaze of a blinkered horse
I viewed the world with such a subtle and idiotic manner
conceited if you will, arrogant of opinion and thought... maybe
I was just young and assumed the universe was mine to adopt