Why do we continue fighting? Life seems to want to find a way, to preserve itself, to keep us going even when we feel like giving up. Is this a Darwinian imperative? A hard-wired evolutionary bent? Is it merely instinct that forces us back up after the world holds us under? Sometimes it feels like a natural tide, a pattern of being brought back to life after a long dark Winter.
Hope is a memory
Held agape
Splintered gaps cracking
Escaped gasps collapsing
Lungs ache
Tongues slapped against teeth
Finding words
Instead of ghastly grinning
Deserted lips
Twisted leanings
Learning tips
To pick up pieces
Tripping in starts and stops
Upside down
Infrequent distortions
Backwards pops
Find a place by the river
Quiet where the ghosts can't speak
In whispers or riddles
In the dark or in the deep
Written in bark
Higher than sight
Growing like weeds
Reach for the light
Find a place in the forest
Sorry that the world can't see
Interminable separations
In a once peaceful sleep
Digging fingers
Higher risen
Wisps like ripples
Ripped like scissors
Bringing broken things
Paper torn
Mind un-mending
Left abandoned
Back to life
With Darwin laughing
Turning over
Hungry cackling
Fuzzy edges
Fudging fringes
Fearing few options for
Staving the melancholy off
Gathered thoughts
Tied up in knots
And would haves
And never ever could haves
Each breath a new sound
Rhythms and cycles concussive
Immolating these melodies
In repetitions percussive
Hating the haze
It keeps uplifting the gates
Coming for a final visit
To the names on the graves
In the water now
I think it's even in the rain
A rising tide and it lifts all ships
Despite all the holes I've made in it
Making the arrangements
Hoping this coffin will capsize
But I think I've missed the forest
And forgotten my own tree
Relearn the words
Re-memorize
Re-seal the lungs
Re-cauterize
Find a place, re-resuscitate
By sunset I'll be right in the head
No uses in forgetting
I'll be right back up
All Bark
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