Sunday, November 20, 2016

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-
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.

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