dramatic music for a nuclear bomb or something more pleasant

the road to accomplishment
 is poorly paved by perfectionists,
most of whom should learn to play that
    drum they carry because the
pattern of their steps is fucked and i'm laughing
            (and that's fucked)

and i'm striving healthily
   toward that "spark-of-a-grin"
      (or so everyone is saying)

for that energy is easily transfered
    and when the c(h)ords that
     carry our power       break
    we respond with a song and
replace the cable in a dangerous way

and it's a lengthy dimension
 around those wiry strings-
we're just too big to know it

and it's funny because
  we waste impetus
jumping toward the forces
      lined-out above us

as if believing in the leaps
     is the only way to
  hold on to something
    and actually feel it

never mind the nerves that get us there
    we all want something to be more aware of:
                    a punch to the face
                       a glass of wine
  a moment stolen so as to stare at something
             we know is going to leave us-

like the wind when it has
     a little edge to it

when it cuts my face
    in a way i've not been able to do myself:

with purpose-
    intent to get somewhere
              anywhere everywhere

and when the breeze meets this cynic
  i'm already smiling, knowing it's
at least similar to real...which is a welcomed uncertainty

because from where i'm standing
   i can't tell right from wrong from empty

and from where i'll end up
  (i hope) i won't need to