You know how you’re writing or making some other form of art, and you’re not sure where it is going, but you keep leaning in on it, like a trust fall exercise? Well, that’s exactly what produced today’s poem, and I’d love to hear what meaning it might hold for you.
Happy Sunday!
Sunlight’s new weave
highlights its green locks
as they twirl by stone earrings
in bubbles this year never blew.
The river goes through the motions.
Morse code insects
are punctuated by clicking egrets
making psychedelic river music,
while friends in headphones
set reminder alarm ringtones;
pests going through the motions.
On the dull surface
gnats take turns trading places,
board game pieces
on the river’s checkerboard,
acting out a strategy without end.
Pawns going through the motions.
Crisp leaves skirt the edges
of a mangled tree, while
everyone dies by different degrees,
and when another cycle ends,
it’s the bindle of the fool that
holds the magic elements of release.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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