Spoken Word Script 3 (from facebook)

Backlash to the cache
of stored up cliches
dissipated days
That relies on the same
All tied to that special myopia
p-e-r-s-p-e-c-t-i-v-e
Or rather lack thereof

Triviality pursuit
I'm rendered mute
By my own indulgence.
Cuz despite the best efforts of the SEC
The monopoly is still conceived to be
my thoughts, words, all seized
enveloped by pettiness that embarrasses me.

Fixated on my height,
perceived slights
My relationship status
(it's not really complicated
in fact it's rather...
simple: single)
I consume my days
In little-varied ways

And I know to cite
perspective
is wearied
But so is to lack it

A level of strife
An acceptance of 'trite'
that's integral to human
But at what level

At what point
Can I no longer
simply shade my eyes
continue with my lies
lies not by falsity
but by vacuity

At what point
Can I no longer
balance internally
wide-spread absences in human rights outside
with petty sadness inside

At what point
Can I say
enough is enough
with all this stuff

At what point
can I restore
a never quite acquired
perspective.

Well here's to hoping
that in this poem
At this time
Where I sit
writing on a laptop
overused
this poem
contains the coordinates
to that point
of artistry
of mastery
of real
perspective.
Peace.