Hills of Probing

How much of life
and its simmering questions
can be ignored fine, claimed cheap,
with tolerant wine?
and how may time be advised real
If all I sense passing by
flows between a bottleneck and a cup?

Though,
I hear there is work to do,
there is work to do.

So I appeal one to state
when best to leap down risk-less
how to pronounce when a tear leaks
in a frown face sapped from joy
must I feel then too; or just say so?

Though,
I hear there is work to do,
there is work to do.

I ponder posing if in this box
zipped, there is still room at all
for a dust bit of our inaction
or some kind of saving from strain
like a sane, saturated thrill –
but I know not to ask highly.

There is work to do,
there is work to do,
so they say.