- Books, Literature, and Writing
My boundaries are timeless
for the judgment endures
in this cynical, cyclical,
tempting that lures, lapses,
in postures that form
relating, soothing, yet violently born.
Valiantly, forlorn, seeking and
wondering at every turn, where
contemplating, imagination -
Seemingly futile, though joined, and
laughing, attempting the idea of illusion
while coining in on the fashion that's fasting.
Synchronicity, assuring ...
Shows up shining on a lighter stage,
arranged and broadcasting ...
Estranged from the old intrigues that cause the rage
competes because of all that compromising
before gaining the weight that it takes -
To hold it all in...
Encircling those angles, always kept.
Inner lines hold things in check
from sayings heard from ear to ear
from her to them and everywhere,
voicing this, and repeating that
supposed to surmise in some later capturing -
and excused due to circumstances
befallen, beholden, in love with the juice -
That fills the hole, without those sides
there's no telling what anyone of us would do.
Taking its cue from one look in a mirror
some act of surrender, though hardly recorded.
Stab me in the heart, the gut, the waist up to your compass
while pulling out all the enthralling weather, and
embracing at the core the temperatures ...
I am, now.
A rope dried hard over a board on some fallen bricks -
Left over, and nailed, in before my sunrise ...
And, I will be somebody's something,
because, I have a song I never expelled ...
seasoned, for the receiving, being
employed by boundless sounds
before all that gravity fell.
I was amused by My senses, still ...
For the freedom to crave
all that's never been done, or said.