When will tomorrow come.

When will tomorrow come, as today has come, and today has gone with my life passing away into the dim memories of no more than yesterday. I dream of things that will never be, hoping that they are the structure of my design for the betterment of those who deserve it. But the confused are getting even more confused and the mystified are baffled by complex thinking and the correct assessment of truths and order.

It is too late for me as I have squandered my entitlements on privileges that the universe endowed to me during its composition and formation eons long ago. Who will pity the idiotic for being ridiculous, and who will have sympathy for futile behavior? The wish is upon supernovas in distant galaxies that may or may not impact the nonsensical and bring peace to the pointless.

In a place referred to as here, and in a moment insinuated as being now, my foot hurts as I walk, and I walk as my foot aches. The unrelenting ravages of concepts called life span, seasons, and occasion has demolished the symmetry and the beauty of my face leaving me not wanting to look at myself in a mirror and to isolate myself from the presence of shapely female hips and thighs. The glass is broken in the mirror and there is no one to repair it.

My mind is troubled by the nonsense and the foolishness of those who ascribe absurdity and thoughtlessness as being a virtue of the enlightened and prudent. The few remaining teeth that I have are on edge when I see the children of the heavens behaving like the offsprings of the rabbit who now dictates the standards of the weak minded and those who forfeit commonsense for acceptance. The mule refuses to pull the plow and the horse will not allow a unicorn to ride it.

Does something that has been cancelled matter? The log burning in the fire has a tree that has lost it and a blade of grass that has been stepped on has an inbuilt mechanism to spring back up. What does it matter that dirt and worms are the ultimate crowns of life? The sea washes to shore as a wave and flows back to its place as an undercurrent. When it is all said and done the root will outlast the vine and winter will last only until spring.

A whisper in the dark is the duration of existence for an organism. People will laugh and people will cry, and all will die. All people will die, and people will cry, and people will laugh during the instant of time that is in flight. But who cares if the cob is an integral part of the web that is old and covered with dust? Placed on the dinner plate is a rude awakening and those who think that they are knowledgeable will lavishly gorge themselves upon it. The destiny of this is the outcome of that and not a single person will escape the consequences of their decision making.

Who told her that she could talk to me and be a delicious environment of my dreams? I did! One of my deepest fears is to die in the house and rot. To inflict anyone with the inconvenience of my decomposing smell. A fear of deterioration without my body disposed of properly is an anxiety that falls upon me as I contemplate falling asleep. Oh well; put your mask on anyone. I excel at being my more astute adversary, my thinking is my most persuasive nemesis, I limp into an undertaking that easily fall apart, I dream of things that can never be, I died the moment the universe was formed only to be born to die in a physical anatomy.

But all is well in the fathomless depths of the nonexistent that is not and is at the same instant in mind. Milk me away on any given day or night my darling and plunge me into paradise. Embrace me tenderly with your love and seed rejoicing into my troubled mind and fragile heart. Say all the wonderful things that lift me up and make me feel strong. Receive me as I blissfully receive you and all will be well in the space and the dimension that we create.