unplanned steps on chosen paths
move stones and twigs of looming success
into shadowed piles of careless leaves
rendering less than nothing.
structured improvisation contradicts itself
by obvious, self-satisfying misnomer,
reinforcing the dream-drenched stasis of now,
producing listless, longing baskets,
woven to store all value, left with a trove of
nothing.
no fantasy of resurgent productivity here;
no rerouting without powerful rake of thought and
obliterating, ego-stripping expulsion of
weak, wishful self focus.
beginnings need not be immaculate nor ingenious;
new value results from bland honesty and
blind acceptance of the need for thoughtful redundancy,
and from the simple labor of self.
(March 15, 2024)
take this,
and do that.
keep it, and make it stay.
turn the some into the many and go back for more.
the thing is not the point, but the doing that makes things
is the living reason.
Is the reason.
open you,
and close that.
leave it, and call it gone.
save the many, and consult growing memory for more.
the trophy is not the win, but dancing toward the band
is the calming motion.
Is the motion.
feel breath,
and breathe cloud.
taste it, and remember.
grow a thought and return any change not wanted.
the change is not the object, but the leap that drops old you
is your wanted haven.
Is your haven.