The hike
Digging deep holes can sometimes feel unnecessary,
when the world dims and the swimming gets mentioned
and you are done hearing about lakes and rivers
about the depths of the sea about the different
shades of blue and how deep it takes to turn to black
how much light it takes to hide the dark the deep the up
and the down, blue planet roams and sometimes the cloud
is our home, the clouds who spell name in the shapes of
how much winter can we take and how much floating
will make everything seem okay. The journey back to love
is one that makes you realize if its always on the mind
is it ever lost? If you roam around the world searching the
depths and trying to sing into the crevices and turn yourself
in on you and implode into an explosive array can there be
a day when purity rings like afternoon, with little sun and little
moon staring eachother in the face, how did that light take
place anyhow how did you come to be, hibernation sometimes
smells like degradation and is this the tragedy we flirt with
the constant feeling of .. okay okay and all in the head of
no i will not listen to what you tell me is going on, because
it all smells so wrong so putrid and wretch o cuntry tis
of thee of we and wellness, some heart palpitates and these
are the same stakes mistaken, white tinged gray
and a wave with a reminder tied around my finger
needles and pines linger and singed, the storm rolls
the fingers unfold, the knuckles so bold, now bruised,
so misconstrued the unamused and the finger licking
nail biting certainty focus on bettering air space
and clear for landing for planning for indigenous understanding.
--MBMCMFME
