abrasive as the bark of an oak
sharp & grasping
yet we desire to feel that rip of palm
the catch . .
helpless . .
helpless as any ethereal thought
a day-dream perhaps lingering there in the grey breeze
produced by some umpteen bizillion currents of light
colliding into a puffball of nothingness
a boiling rumpled cosmic stasis
movement proves heavy & fragile
the residue of of passionate possibility lingers
history repeats and repeats and repeats and repeats
suddenly there is a dance, a shimmy
a flicker of hope-darting
tasting of blue grass
pointing west out of the chaos of this day -
this pocket of complacency
hold on ....