Discovery lies on the other end of a precarious beam with escapism.
Good advice leads to more questions than answers.
Cravings are a lagging indicator of a past need. Replenish what you require to avoid folding to desire.
Let their derision fuel your passion.
Our ancestors sold the future
for convenience. Now,
we waste away,
fighting for peace of mind.
Shapes in raw granite, a person. An unaware, apathetic block- head staring blankly in the mirror, hammered and sanded. From top to toe, mouths run - collecting minerals - dribbling away. Forward springs life, etching down the drain. Rock chips stumble over each other. Dust finds home on rough edges - inevitably the floor, cracks in my dry, clay-soaked hands, and cloth folds wherever paint doesn’t already cling. The eyes: pained, long set. A muscular beauty, the rest, one casual greeting at a time. In and out of days, nights fitting somewhere between, apparently. I work.
Settling my hand on a bur oak’s bare chest. Flailing distantly for the giving reach and feeling encouragement from limestone crevices beneath - I leap. Hints of living where fish swarm in silver darts for lunch and never hunger. She holds enough. They have two children in thick, wool hats. A transparent bond below a howling dog’s wounded voice caroling softly across the bristling stones.
Listening to your voice, I wonder how many beautiful poems I’ve hated listening in mine.
A crutch we use
to reassure ourselves
everything is okay.
But it already was,
because things are
and thus, already
as they should be.