One of Many Idiots

the circular motion above our heads
is casting an unlikely shadow
in what is to be the future of the world.

We sat and thought about it last night,
but every time we think,
and sit
and dream
and be,
somehow,
the element of surprise is never brought up as a possibility.

Is it just me,
or the fact that we don't plan for this
leaves us vulnerable for the attack?

we sat around.
thought along the dotted lines
projected in the star-filled sky
daydreaming of the dream
of the collective subconscious,
feeling around the area for hope
but only finding dandelions.

It's been a while since we just sat,
looked up to the sky
and embraced the very rain that plagues us.
it remains with us, you know.
we're like flowers and programmed robots.

We think. we look, we act.
and sometimes,
as the stars perfectly align,
we can make sense of the obvious
collect the abstract
and execute the art of reaction.

we sat there,
dumb,
with pupils dilated,
hair freely flowing,
mouths wide open,
like little kids,
for the second time ever in our lives,
just letting our mouths catch the rain
collecting puddles near our molars, incisors, and what not
collecting puddles directly channeled to our brain,
collecting thoughts of years past
as kids
sitting alone
drinking rain water
and being sick the next day.

I blinked.
you fluttered.
we spoke in tongues
we watched the sun surface in the sky
trying to rush the rain away,
but defiant, the rain stayed.
but this time,
we were not sick the next day.