We are pre-occupied,
sliding, bopping
downwind,
as we wind up
to wind down

How else
can we cope
with the realities
of self-awareness
and the bloodstained knife
of consciousness;
the rancid drift
of knowledge?

We're all Pompeians,
pre-occupied
under a looming imminence
down to our last breath,
tools in our hands,
thoughts in our minds,
our pasts well behind