You made the rules than broke them all
because you don’t give a fuck, not even a bit
or piece, big or small
I used to think you were full of it
& soon saw, you do it not for the thrill
but for the funk of it
far more triumphant
in the long run, you’ll get up the hill
prancing along like a stallion of steel
instead of dawdling like an ass
counting its footsteps in the mud
following previously trotted heels
The early horse gets the meals.
The sound of a child’s laughter usually brings a smile to my face
but it soon fades, knowing I can’t laugh quite that freely now
Though what grows must regress to an early state
I just hope I can laugh like that again
before I reach the heavenly gate
Frustration when your fingers stick together in a web of dubious intent
Clumsy clumsy fingers, pressing all the wrong pressure points
blissful serendipity are not in these here fingertips, nor is a technicolor climax while attempting to push the apex up so we could get down together
but alas, ’twas not in the cards, not within these short stubbed reaches!
But listen to the the sound. Get closer.
The strum of an angel’s wing. Crystal gleam, a steaming train of thought. Glam. Plenty o’strawberry jam.
A harmony rings from above “All Right All Right All Right All Right All Right…”
a rhythmic clap rumbles behind billowy dark violet clouds. The aroma of honeydew drops clinging to tall grass at dawn, a calm culmination of all things considered.
So close yet so far away
if only I could get these sticky fingers to spread that way.