Cathexis

Sometimes the ball moves on its own
and you find yourself wandering the alleys
your parents told you to avoid.

I'll just be a minute, you think.
I just need to find my ball.
But night descends quick and windows crack open.

All around you, flashes from luciferous frames.
You might peer inside to see gnosis;
self-proclaimed Shamans and Mandarins.

Lucidity succumbs to those alleys,
until you wander out at dawn.
The sun is on its way up; your ball is somewhere.