I know I'm not
stable, by any stretch of the term.
I have things to harp about.
Strings to pummel
with pick and tooth and
notes to make and take and
rummage and make new again.
Adoration is
too often worlds apart
from worlds occupied and I
try to dance to drum sounds and
jam to foundry unsound.
I pursue the losses and
fire wildly at albatrosses and
karma sutric, copacetic,
vain glorious
loosed leaf
be damned.
Approachable in
stretches, dusty dirty
desert licked
horse skinned, but the
words of whorls courses
can't make bossness
out of card board and
glue fumes for days.
I am trying to imagine
a universe where
you never left and I never gave
reason to.
A universe where
the wire and finished wood
of the loom made a tapestry
somna-beautiful and we
spooned two souls cocooned
against the noise.
I am so
and thus
and such
that like as
to be
we are and
who we
so are
and so we
through this
maybe
for that
it too
and will
go back
come forth
divide
we were
and in
become.
I know
I'm not stable
by any stretch
and adoration
will not come
of it's own free will,
but I wish
and the wishing
is what I have
and what I refuse
to let slip.
