wall paper in the deeps of a coal mine
legible but somewhat dimly lit.
molting as a form of distant memories fading
as the lightness of feathers, is gone.
drive-bys, as if wind is an angry reminder.
the geologic column of life’s hauntings, in review.
rowing across an ocean of responsibility
with a skeleton crew of one, obliged.
the hard-press of the signature,
though the handwriting is still recognizable.
the obligation coming off of love
carried on unconsciously, going forward.
devotion is always a last breath
that repeats itself, as it never ends.
an empty nest can be as scary as
an ex-ray to determine to essential cause.
a cereal bowl with an excess of bottom milk
and one lone cheerio staring back, at a lonely sky.
the playing of shadow tag in the dark
as murmurs scurrying about amongst themselves.
healthy wisdom is too much of the robust,
give me the scourge of pragmatics to grind.
the linear mind is a cruel parent of the moment,
yet to want, for the solo sail upon your singular soul.
there are no months forthcoming
when obligation is the calendar.
when the entire tunnel is made of light
then what is at the end of it?
discipline is a make-over
without the original inspiration in mind.
inspiration secretly comes out of effort
and not ever from the results obtained.
there are no Septembers.
they are just framed that way, as utterances go.
witnessing the marionette strings back to source,
may give you, the hand of god as yourself.
and you thought that god loved you
but were never really, really sure . . .
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