Sometimes
life is mercurial as air -
a sidereal journey
of breadcrumbs we follow
against the periphery
of a bespangled sky,
our glints of hope
all aligned
in the distance,
a shiny thought
for each of us,
if it weren’t
for the connection
perpetually queued,
a string quartet
for every lover
still on hold.

Sometimes
life is a wobble
in the earth,
we muster
a folded napkin
to dull the knocking,
till dad kicks the leg out
and the whole thing
goes out back,
if only I could
ease down on the reigns
of this merry-go-round
and see the blurred turnstile memory
of my childhood -
understand the spinning
of my lazy susan heart –
my knee scraped full of you
still frittle upon my skin where I graveled
bringing forth a slower trump
of blood,
platelets held on the wine path
of my tongue –
the story of our age
a flash of brilliance
a moment of enlightenment
before the flood gates unleash -
and suddenly then
like an unsaid whisper
we are reduced
to bones.

~

10/28/2009

Author's Note:

Posted on 10/28/2009
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