almost a cynic

almost invisible
lying still
in the dog days
beneath warm sun rays
the wash of the world will bring me a speck
of life
I dissect
and recollect
and rebuild
and dissect
and recollect
and rebuild
and dissect
and eventually digest
and regurgitate all my thoughts from the previous days
when I'm tired of new ones for a while.
and chew on the cud,
like a complacent cow
but
when the boy gets tired of human things
or finds himself engorged
and immersed in too much wash of nothingness
he transforms
and seeks air
like a tadpole to a frog
and grows bigger legs
to kick harder
splash stronger
to bring new energy and create waves
but sometimes as his waves
expand
reverberate
and begin to shape the shoreline
the echoes are followed by
the fisherman
the predators
the sharks
who feed off the source
a little movement is fine
in fact
a little movement is what is expected
to remain anonymous
not too little to appear dead
and become food
but not too much
to be like an elephant of change
to be exposed and standing in a room like a
powerful dangerous idea
reverberating
but the jungle reduces to whispers
fearing the repercussions
of the new idea
and then sometimes
even as an elephant
you are
almost invisible