abrasive as the bark of an oak
sharp
grasping
yet we desire to feel that rip of palm
the catch
the cut
helpless
helpless as any ethereal thought
a day-dream perhaps lingering there in the grey breeze
produced by forty thousand currents of light
colliding into a puffball of nothingness
empty-set
stasis
a boiling rumpled cosmic stasis
movement proves heavy
fragile
the residue of of passionate possibility lingers
yet
history repeats and repeats and repeats and repeats
suddenly there is a dance, a shimmy
a flicker of hope
darting
tasting of blue grass
pointing west out of the chaos of this day
this pocket of complacency
hold on
tight
