My heart is full.
It leaks and it seeps into my very bones,
as I beat a retreat into some heavy tome…
to no avail.
All attempts fail.
For the role has been called asunder
by the pull to pillage and plunder poisonous pleasure.
I take my lumps like a fan,
and play a chump’s meager hand,
for cards are not my forte.
I humor the gamer
and await the fall of the final tarjeta.
Then in the light of full moon…
“See what being a star gets ya.”
The prophet sighed as he prophesied.
Some prophets lie when it’s profit time,
and find themselves tied to desired decline.
Creditors, debtors… in thrall by design.
Power plays and dour dates…
What seems sweet hides a sour fate…
Yet sour, sweet, savory, bitter and such
can combine to create the most delicious stuff…
in the right hands.
This is what I gather as I look at these rafters.
My limbs are capable to paddle through these rapids.
And my mind is culpable in complicating matters.
As my body rankles as repository of another untold story,
my core carries on regardless.
My gut retains glory.
So belly laughs and confidence chaff…
Sea water baths and prominent shaft…
I’m taking it back to before courting lack.
The universe is my oyster.
No bucket to kick.
Fully corrected bucket list.
This kiss… Is free.
Errol Percival Jr.