The Mystery of Give-and-Take

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.

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