Strange Reality

Blue smoke curls to the moon,

I smoke, I think.

I ask, why me?

What have I done to deserve this?

Strange reality, so far from what really is.

Can I see this thing through to the end?

A dog barks into the night.

What’s he saying? What’s on his mind? Is he even a he?

I wonder if the Dog Whisperer could determine the sex of a dog by its bark?

Could a master like the Dog Whisperer understand the sentiment behind that bark?

No barks or howls answer back. Maybe he’s just as lonely as I am.

Maybe he’s also dreaming (in black and white?)  of a country life, a ranch life, or a life by the sea.

Blue smoke curls to the moon.

I smoke, I think.

I send smoke to the moon

while my friend howls at it.

I try to make sense of the senseless.

All I can do is as little as possible as I let all that needs to be done be done.

Step aside and let it pass. Day by day and up over those Southern and Western Sierra Madres.

Never looking back except to shake my head and laugh at the insanity of it all as I raise a glass to toast the good life in a place that isn’t this one, in a reality that isn’t this one.

I believe better days lie ahead.


About npeligeiro

N. Peligeiro is still trying his hand at teaching and learns more as he goes. He doesn’t subscribe to that whole “those who can’t do, teach” theory and he repents for being less than a model student back in Minnesota when he was young and knew he knew it all. Currently Mr. Peligeiro is probably somewhere in South America, but it’s hard to say because he moves around a lot and burns through money because he has a space between his two front teeth that he hasn’t gotten fixed yet even though an old Chinese sage told him it was bad physiognomy and he’d always have financial problems while the space remained. He likes to write when he’s got something to say. When he doesn’t he keeps his mouth shut and his pen capped.
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