I
woke up, an odd feeling, to reckon for loss. Every word a
prayer,
seeping into caverns, where fragments mock. I
thought
of
life,
a child’s eyes, pleading excitement. I thought of love,
a woman’s
promise,
grieving challenge. There’s a galloping soul,
atop
a raindrop, flooring through dreams. Its naked gin, for
rooftop
woes, a bit surreal. I grip for bluegrass, to
nurture
mind, entwined in converse. There’s a vignette,
to
rupture vessels, as potent as feelings. We often flip, a
portrait
ocean, shredding seaweed. It’s so aloof, to vet it
not,
a disconnect. I reckon ease, a bit distant, to wrestle
features.
I reckon rain, a bit angry, promoting womanhood.
We
speak it lightly, deaf to souls, screaming of malice.
It’s
more for drumsticks, and cedar drums, to open caves;
else
for wilted, palming teardrops, for weeping dreams;
for we awaken, a
random feeling, to reckon gain.
