The labourer I now know

 My life is a drive way
a small vein between a house and the street
A connection to that which flows
Belonging to the grid of roads

I am not born here
My avatar is a labourer
I stand with rake in hand 
to distribute pebbles

I pray to be born back 
To feel the chaos of before
The uncertainties the electric stew
For here I am sterile of sensation

I invite the simulation
I conjure black magic
my eyes are not mine
they scan the stoneless driveway

Thoughts never formed
smile nor grin no variation in me
empty like the road
empty like the driveway

No content just instinct
No reflection just outward sight
Cars passing just as dull and indifferent
I pull the first stroke with my rake

there are no pebbles to spread just hardened clay
It feels like the surface of me
it feels like my insides trapped and oxygenless
My hands form prayer and I plead

But the heart is disconnected
Thoughts randomly form and dissolve
Before I can grasp their color and shape
The driveway humms indifference

I look to the sky and beg it to take my eyes
I pray to be born back to feeling
The uncaring acceptance over me entirely
No reaching no struggling

Obedience to each passing moment
Lost to that overwhelming fizzling out