my thoughts have been...
trailing off,
my posts have been...
trailing off,
my certainty has been...
Hesitation
has become both a strength
and a weakness.
Patience
has become both an asset and a
manipulation.
Thinking in ellipses
is perhaps a product of age, or decline, or
maybe an egress...
Where am I going?
To avoid clichés at any cost,
we put together words like
neuronal emersion
or violet tenderness.
I connect
with people, pencils, comrades, airwaves, bluegrass, trees, crows, breezes.
Balance remains out of reach.
The swamp calls...
No, the swamp grabs. Pulls me under.
It smells of primordial ooze, diamonds, sweat, acorns, twisted steel.
It is quicksand.
Quick. Sand.
I float above myself and see my hand reach up from the mud.
In cartoons when I was a kid, they said if you fall in quicksand, don't panic.
Float. On your back.
No one talks any more about quicksand.
It used to be one of my fears.
Nuclear bombs and quicksand.
I roll onto my back
and float,
breathing in the scent of contrails.
And wait...
