Wasteland

I am not Iron Man.
I am flesh, bone, meat and thought.
I am an axis of skin hanging from a matrix-spine.
And I feel.
Often times, perhaps, too much. However, on this day, this idle Friday, where nothing exists out of the ordinary. In which no history will be remembered or changed, I stand improved.
I stand man.
Although I have my reservations of the feminization of society, I find the progress acceptable by most coherent standards. Fruitbearers now determine fruit.
And then there is this obsession, still to be consumed with, or, by another. To hold a face. To smile with eyes. To glisten as teeth, accidentally clash against the others.
But Know Thyselves, they say. And I must.
I must purge forward to understand.
I am grasped to propel forward. I am gasped with intention.
A hope to reject this wayward wandering of my soul. A longing to find a wave of solid momentum and trap the feeling.
Complacency be damned. I am no radical, but must learn to stand for my own.