The Drift, a Poem by Gary Phillips
without exogenous concern
sans respect nor deference
for what or whom preceded
just an internal preference
ever changing context
predictability they crave
these traits not found
in the home-of-the-brave
old formulated solutions
for a state-of-flux enveloped
knee deep in past bias
game irrationally developed
it is a self-evident gift
hell sent, but heaven bent
it's dimson and then some
all else is just sentiment
everything is always different
to some degree
everything remains the same
it has to be
if you catch my drift…