Tuesday, November 8, 2016


But where?
Perhaps buried is insufficient.
Twinkling rhythms perk my intentions
Ego enters, in controlled strokes
This tango shimmies into awareness
The unspoken confidence no longer lingering
But dipping, swinging, hunting- full bore.
Onto swirling motions and calculated abandon.
Ha! The mixture of control and impulse is iconic
To grant a waltz of the like is to trust in the instinct
That magic be made,
In light of congruence
In light of love.

The trust, unspoken
Breeding everywhere that conscience swarms
My balance is innate, it is unfailing
It is assured.

This marriage of color
Indubitably owns my freedoms
Sweltering days bleed into taxed nights
Heeding the merit of innuendos explored.
All these unexplained sonatas
Heard faintly,
Detected subtleties, given due.
These wordless metaphors tumble out
Out of heart, Out of mind, Out of psyche.

The long murmuring soloist
Has yet to tire, bowing yes, but never breaking.
Choreographing instead, a lifetime of symmetry
Of geometric, mellifluous beauty.
Of curvaceous, uncharted mornings
And deep thumping into night.

Pouncing ideas, darting back and forth
True to the reasoning of a free spirit
There may be control, contingent upon the role given
But there too is allegiance to the pioneer inside.
Long live the individualism
Innate to my existence.

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