Strange Reality Poem by Nate Peligeiro

Blue smoke curls to the moon,
I smoke,
I think.
I ask, why me?
What have I done to deserve this?

Strange reality,
so far from
what really is.
Can I see this thing
through to the end?

A dog barks into the night.
What's he saying?
What's on his mind?
Is he even a he?

I wonder.
Could the Dog Whisperer
determine the sex
of a dog
by its bark?

Could a master
like the Dog Whisperer
understand the sentiment
behind that bark?

No barks or howls
answer back.
Maybe he's just as lonely
as I am.

Maybe he's also dreaming
(in black and white?)
of a country life,
a ranch life,
or a life
by the sea.

Blue smoke curls to the moon.
I smoke,
I think.
I send smoke to the moon
While my friend
howls at it.

I try to make sense
of the senseless.
all I can do is
as little as possible
as I let all that needs
to be done
be done.

Step aside
and let it pass.
Day by day
and up over those
Southern and Western
Sierra Madres
never looking back
except to shake my head
and laugh
at the insanity of it all
as I raise a glass to toast
the good life
in a place that isn't this one,
in a reality that isn't this one.
I believe better days
lie ahead.