Everywhere
Signs link our brains to chains of being.
We like it,
A friend likes it too.
A crowd gathers and wants to wear, bear,
Or swear by it,
just like you do.
Now it’s a thing.
It’s got everyone’s attention.
Then it’s all the rage
With it
you are the toast of the town.
The sign can be anything
A car you like:
The Rogue, Santa Fe, Tacoma,
Mustang, Tesla, or Ram,
Bought for power, prestige, or a sexy name
To send a message
Receive acclaim.
The question is
what comes first the car or its brand name.
Each speaks to the buyer of the exotic, erotic,
or of powerful dreams.
Then there are the places you go, to hang out, or be seen,
not just a cafe or bar,
but Turtle Bay, Cracker Barrel, Sardis or some other prestigious hideaway
The food may be outstanding,
maybe not,
But it strokes your expectations
And stakes a claim to lasting fame
with a meaningful name.
And we love to wear the costumes,
not just pants, shirts, or shoes,
But eagerly show our colors,
Make a statement for our team:
The hat, the jersey, the makeup themes,
shout our allegiance to flag, party and team.
We identify with colors, mascots,
and fancy jewelry,
or even a too colorful,
permanent tattoo.
We show everybody
who we are
and are not.
And the place to be
Flag the signs of the times
make us who we are
Signs of our identity, our vocation, our ideology.
And this is me,
As we curry favor with our signs
and point to who we are,
or most want to be,
a fine example of the continuing catastrophe,
The same old thing repeated unendingly.
THH
12/21/23
Thoughts Have Hands 