Dredge…
Shred first, taste later
The hard-won destruction fakes its toll
Ledge…
Bled first, healthy again,
The softer climates rust the weakly postured
The milk slips over the edge of the bowl
Bits and bobs sieze up and collapse
Litter the verges and byroads
Where they fall like dew,
or like rain,
or like driven snow,
relaxed in the control of
murderous gravity.
But no depravity…
The scale from sensible to serious
Well traversed by guilty soles
Paths worn into quiet patterns
That tell their own stories
Furious…
Perhaps a little anger goes a long way,
Shockwaves radiating at the speed of speech
Passion’s grip a point of no return
Poisoned righteousness burning brightly on.
Then relaxed…
The tide draws its breath
Shores sigh and relax
Cruel hammering suspended, paused
Soft water investigates the flaws
The bowl falls from the table,
A hundred fragments of ceramic and cereal,
Spread out on the tiles,
In random broken piles.
I will brush and mop,
The random collection of abstract shapes,
Entropy shouldering into the kitchen unwelcome
From their chaos find the order of a rubbish bin,
the shattering of an illusion of calm
hurt words of an injured psyche startled
stabbing aimlessly outwards
I will brush and mop and find a new bowl
