Untitled

Imprinted with the great design,
I dare not resign myself to any relegation
cast by another, or even I.
Three letters spell sky…
Not my limit…
I choose none.
I choose love.
Mary J. Vibes.
Rhythm brews time,
spiraling cycles
like honey and cinnamon in the porridge.
The tea kettle whistles and I am admonished…
by steam.
Is anger thusly nullified,
by not being the kettle but the hearer of the shrill tone?
I remember… The turn…
The swift shift from love to eternally pissed.
I risked it… gave love till I depleted reserve and regard.
Unguarded of heart…
No regret.
I return right to that.
The grill brick realigns the shine…
The griddle is in readiness…
The very world is at stake.
All lies in balance.
That’s the bottom line.
Where is the top line?
Matter of fact, where is the top?
Where does it stop?
Buck the system…
Buck it good…
Bucket listing… should of, could of, would…
Will.
No!
Am.
I mourn my own way…
All henceforth is tribute.
Gratitude is the utility of the tools
forged in familial fire…
The ancestors dance around it still.
I heed the call…
There are goosebumps
I’m thrilled.
I too dance.
My spirit leaps in my throat
and through my finger tips.
I type on black and white keys…
two three… two three…
Eighty-eight…
Upright infinity times eleven…
Rhymes with seven…
Numerology mid step sixteen…
Take a full first step…
A thousand ensue,
in inertia, enthused…
Strength of spirit in thews..
That “retard” strength…
Desperate mothers lifting vehicles.
Placebo supplements: bootstrap pinnacles.
Tell me what is impossible…
You may receive my ridicule…
if I made time for such.
Fleeting…
on the beach
a fleet of feet…
A featured feat…
Fetal floating…
Amniotic sea.
All I see is sky.
In water, I can fly.

Daiikiru

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