a black star imploding on the 7th alley ’round the upside down
veiling the path towards the nexus of all creation behind a canvas scribbled in haste with heavy charcoal
an all black affair, as a matter of fact
down the dusty halls, down trails of a catacomb of the supersweet unknown to rectify a situation blown into a Big Bang
a proverbial cry on behalf of all humanity, those of whom have any humanity left under the surface of the still & deceptively deep blues
down the drain at the bottom of the sea and spat out the other side, where few things seem familiar & what is familiar is subject to intense scrutiny, warranted or not
a word with a myriad of connotations leading to too many conclusions
down with it all
you, me, we, & the rest
allowing the deep unwind to manifest
gravity of a neutron star crushing down those on stand by
from this day forth
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.