An Idea

The banality of
Mortality
Overwhelms my senses,
Lowers my defenses and dulls my perception. If
Creation is conception, life breathed
Into thought and dangled in the wind like
So much dirty laundry, I’m left in a bit of a quandary:
Whose eyes rest on my underwear as they
Dangle there for all to see? And will they know
It belongs to me?