The Whites and Greys are Dancing.

Swarming, the tides foam

Brittle lips moisten; there’s a crack here

Looking for light.

Puzzled pieces blunder

Signs of cohesion touch down-

Momentarily,

To tease and remind

There is reward in success.

Non-porous surface

Impenetrable; breaking the fall

Of mess.

Would that these limbs serve as a construct

Evoking fresh new experiences

As time affords what is made time for.

Bristling confusion, these rhythm-less tones

Dance in the nothing of noise

Perilous gut-ache, roving in tune

To the sarcasm and odor

Of apathy.

Is this the mechanism at fault?

Fucking nonsense, I know better

Weighed down under significance

These truths are mine.

I own the allotment I run, completely.

Unfinished it seems,

These unrehearsed labors

Uniting prickly observances and toast for eyes

Fatigue slumps forward, in life, in limb

Buying the credit it needs to refurbish

Joints, jackhammers and jimmy-rigs

Tomorrow comes and lifted chins

Balk for nothing once the keys are turned.

Solid performance, my days are full

I earn what I earn and meander under overpasses

Head tilted, eyes lifted, to ponder the weight

Retrofitting of my own done now in great ardor

Biding cherished moments to squeeze in more care

Appreciation is bent in half, elusive, expensive.

Wrinkles shift, hair blows

The whites and greys are dancing.

I did right when the time came

Oft and oft nought, consuming fire for self-service

In light of my love.

The riddles bloom deeper next

In deep succession, less and less pass through.

From those historic halls of motherly roast

And relied upon supplies,

The teaching was taught well.

It’s late, and I am hiding in my words

The reading between lines holds too many secrets.

I fault no one for these vulnerable ploys

That I yet employ to snuff truths,

Truths too thick to swallow

Too broad to shit out.

I am what my maker made me to be

And a fair amount of self.

What more could be asked for,

When the compensation, I feel,

Is enough to remain full..?

Full, even when the wounds are raw and the logic is gone.

This life is cruel, beautiful, caring and kind.

It is this way because I ask that of it.

In understanding. In love.

In me.