the force of life

what is it? the fuel within driving the vehicle
of being
a masculine question staging a feminine answer… and
it doesn’t make sense, listen to the voice… the core, the god, the light, the allah, the tower foundation… and when it crumbles, the force may rise… a sun, a moon…


river ride… a canoe trips its stern, the hand reaches to grasp the force of life takes hold
of the steady… steady… steady the ride, hold
the breath… hold
hold on

hold on to life…


old man mumbles, crumbles life, “Watertown, Watertown, Watertown, she went to Watertown, Watertown, Watertown”
in an iced ceramic hall, swabbed nightly,
paced daily
a story teller’s lapse, forgotten character in his own
words slip


and then there was a child in more hospitals then the
writer
can remember,
the smallest of hope, pounding on the thin wall of womb
came the red rancor, silver sharps… and the chimes
I even herd the chimes…
innocence, tired before it was born, needing only to be folded
in arms of comfort…


what were the bullets like? rubber band too tight, the tearing, torn, the
pierce of reality… the bleeding… did you run? the grass, too tall, too thin, too wet… too
to, have to get to… a place where this doesn’t happen.
where
Mary has little lambs between her legs and she sings lacey smoke, wrong word… stay away from the smoke the fire, the rain… the rain…
the rain of her
jelly sweet at touch, slip
sweet… sweet… in the salt, sated… shhhh…
go there…

psgates