The Mystery of Give-and-Take
And I’m always
writing, forever rewriting,
tying the rough ends
of my life together
with worn laces–
the ill-fated faces,
the forbidden places.
And I’m always
editing, forever editing
out irate segues that aren’t
compatible with
the narrative’s primary hues–
the reds, yellows, and blues.
And I’m always
re-membering, forever tempering
those scratches, bruises,
and kinks on vinyl records
that silenced
thyme and honey
from my naked voice–
bells and whistles worn
by fairest Nature to rejoice.
And I’m always
creating, forever recreating
artificial worlds with my
adroit left-handed pallet
and imprisoning myself
within the give-and-take
cycle as to sprout forth
new buds–
pearl orbs, coral clasps,
and cyan studs.
And I’m always
giving, forever giving
like the Blessed Stars that Be;
And I’m always
receiving, forever receiving
like the landlocked Dead Sea.
And I’m always
becoming, forever and ever,
and ever becoming
the magnanimous soul
in Mendocino mental hospital
unable and unwilling
to receive.
And I’m always
becoming, forever and ever,
and ever becoming
the lawless thug
in Alcatraz prison
unable and unwilling
to give.
Forever writing and rewriting,
and tempering and creating,
and giving and taking,
within the back-and-forth stuckness
that cannot, shall not,
and will not be named.
