My hands. Five fingers,
yet not enough to comb a lion’s mane when it roars.
Guilty for stripping a rose naked of its chores
of making perfume
in the disgust that we sow
Not enough to get a firm grip on leaves that
crumble when autumn howls.
Not enough to tap my fears on a piano, that speaks for me.
I didn’t even have the courage
to move them.
I didn’t even let it sing for me.
Too late to plunge in to a tornado and fight to let the current spit me out,
or let it spin and spin
till it mournfully wins, for letting me be
by not letting me be
Inside me somewhere like a plane that took off earlier than its time, but
thanked the Lord for this unintentional pride.
The storms were sweeping by. We can hear them cry, for their misery is their own now. Got to go our own way, passengers, got to leave. Got to stay gone.
What if we keep all the wrappers, of all the chocolates we’ve ever eaten?
Instead of tossing them away, letting them roll
till they’re shut into another cycle, another break.
They’re stepped on, ripped, maybe even chewed by an animal that
forgot its awaiting fate.
Isn’t that what we do to people?
Suck the sweetness, fill the hunger,
on to the next one my friend. Our stomachs won’t be full for long.
Silly little thing, he saw the front but didn’t use his peripheral view.
The line was three-dimensional, and he was surrounded on all fours.
One moment here, and another he was gone. ‘I followed the wrong way’.
It’s like I’m reeling in to pure chaos, and I love it.
A decimal to a number I can count as one.
I’m infinity molded into one. I feel nothing, and this nothingness means the world to me.
You were caught off guard, this time by your own goosebumps.