scrupulously in line

I tried reaching somewhere
getting etched was part of the story

back lashed by currents, strong
air blowing down deserted streets
alleyways zonder trees, storming

into my cup, coffee, steam
hot, brownish soup
spilling foam, stains
on my fresh white shirt

i crossed a hundred thousand seas
according to posts, signals
installed by someone, scrupulously
in line with an unscrupulous system

blindfolded, it takes billions of seconds
to reach understanding of one self

I tried rushing somewhere
in circles, ultimately realising something

being close to closing, slowly,
one of those damn loops, sometimes
it is fun, sometimes unreasonably scary

under one and the same
old, moody, boiling sun.