Omnivorus paths sown by stealth chiseled my core
yet neurons bend the guilt knob belying my essence.
Whose imprimatur needs to endorse my being?
It took half a century of lived life to cipher this. Actualized
it seems manageable. What of the gazillion mopes this milquetoast
grappled with before matutinal thews spangled?
One is as valid as consciousness allows us. How does one keep
it skookum? By unclogging pores with the steam of sophrosyne.
When energies meld escalators move to a new address.