The Never-Ending Present

This waiting here for a bus
Is better than its coming
Every day it always does
I daydream or kick some dirt
Or throw a rock or check my watch
Or catch my reflection

And it barely makes an impression
On the never-ending present

This working from the inside out
This stepping to the easel
Is going to run you into results
And then there's the materials
Do you see a world beyond your shoes
Reflected in the polish?
And see some images of truth
Beautifully demolished?

And it barely makes an impression
On the never-ending present

Steel yourself against the cold
Or look for semi-precious shade
When the bus crests that hill
Love and hate are just the same
Watching as the money drops
Every day it always does
Maybe there's a song in here?
No, and in fact, there never was

Nothing but a little expression
From the never-ending present
Just me doing my impression
Of the never-ending present