sorry to the who

but I don’t care to think I know you anymore

I'm like a pinball rolling towards what’s in store

I don’t even know what’s at the bottom 

of the slightly sloped hill but I ought err um

I’ll never know til I get down near IT, maybe

there’s nothing up here to change IT, maybe

with all these things and flashing lights

reflecting through my chrome coating 

I’m working to keep those consistent with my weight

and roll through the confusing loud noise

that can get in my way from sensing 

the momentum towards the void

that has the power to start another chance    

to get it right and find a rhythm to dance

in between the point makers and flippers

American-Dream-Jones’-Juice-sippers

Oh to be part of whatever’s perfectly between 

this that life death up down in out hot cold

pain pleasure safe unsafe you me bought sold

like a blind deaf mute who’s not worrying

about making it in this busy game

but making only those points

that don't have market value

rolling passed the ego’s illusive view

that is just another who