A stone’s throw from obscurity

One step from irrecoverable

On the threshold of invisibility

Hours away from unidentifiable . . .

Unworthy of the time it takes to perceive

The bag I’m in.

 

Life’s shadows shade eccentricity

Of earmarking humble stations

By insulting inconspicuous humanity

With set societal lines of . . .

Demarcation, biased no-return points like

The bag I’m in.

 

Hard-pressed but not distressed

Nor defined by lack or abundance

Of that mean-green god so cherished

In a world full of reluctance . . .

A stimulus to imagine identity is equal to

The bag I’m in.

 

God holds plumb line against walls:

Greed, Ignorance, Selfishness;

To warn that leaning walls will fall

And expose wrong choices; times . . .

When people ignored personalities akin to

The bag I’m in.