The Ends - Subtle

It seems sap is sweet on hands

But in trees its subject to an even higher power

And no matter how you feel

It will tend to, tending to keep you alive

And the rest: a simple time stretching of one earth & common fabric…

Of fragile blood run cellular engine and something or other…

Is there no sort of luck involved

In not being born an ant or elephant…

Or is this just, pure and unadulterated math

Water willed, and egg improvised

Until hatched by knife light then…

Mother named, after her extremely painful experience

Allowing the vast maze of birth and mistake

To take its toll on all that practical destiny

And then child-sized specificity

Lain there

Inherent in the once one celled organism

A consummate pin-hole poked in the plot behind planet earth and such

A pin-hole poked… Is enough to sink an entire universe of tiny ships

Freeing all that perfect principal lain inherent

In a step by step schematic of the human dive

And when planets align… all you can do is dive…

And this… this is the soft spear of the human condition

But you yourself are not

You are more…

The pulled on skull of something that was never really all that young

You are more…

One wung

And consumed by your most gross of concerns

Can you remain in love from deep space

With no fish bowl on and a busted communicator…

Or have you everything planned

Is there a simple universal system of buoy and rope

That you would use to tug your weightless mass along on

Till you found a planet that you felt might be just right for you

Or is it possible the view of earth at such a distance

Would have played you for the fool as well…

Hour Hero Yes showed you there’d be days like this…

And they’d come with the rain on of course

A good gallon of reverb let loose on your personal truth

Dark eared on the edge of your sleeping slab

Having been bent born & went phantom dayed

Hope stole on in the equal parts miracle of

Bringing yourself to and from sleep

In calendrical waltz…

All to feel aimed

At last, your heartjaw kissed against the coming dawn…

In dive

Let go at last

Our hero yes is done dove

Safe through several more hypothetical «seconds before death,»

Unto the never similar wilds of his ground teeth powered and b-movie dreams

It begins…

With all white, in a sound proofed hallway

Your staring down the empty eye slits of a lowsocket.

waking

On the floor at the foot of the bright light blocking and locked

Hundredth door of luck

At the opposite end of the hall sits a pair of empty pay public binoculars

Slumped, facing your way

In the dead of their stare, you marvel about

Until you eye this one door that appears to be both half open and closed

And are drawn moth to the bulb

Head down, as if reeled round a gear by the guts

Inching toward your intuit-picked portal of choice…

Now knelt, yet not without nerves in this moment of mostly glory

You look for the knob, and see nothing but healed shut keyhole

Dax-strong in this dream you begin to cut key

In the furthest corner of a clearest skull

When you feel your kneecaps being nursed by a white on white welcome mat

You tilt your skull to read «WOE-BE-GONE» only written wrong or in mirror.

Your hands and heart full of edge, you lift the mat gently

And there beneath it’s omen embroidered, sits an intact wishingbone…

You carefully lift your instrument of certain luck to the door

And it slowly unclenches the scar seem set where it’s keyhole would be…

And so you snap bliss bone, cut wish and begin to lock pick…

Until you hear trough the thick of the door the deadbolt caughing loose…

Suddenly the fear black above your skull, beneath your skin goes wild

As the door of your choice opens itself slowly…

Sealing off your face with perfect stripes of rising bone and angst

Of alabaster and pit

Allowing the bright right light of luck

To completely believe

And eclipse you…