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.