Humming on the edge of
Perfection balanced, nerves
Singing the high-pitched squeal
Of delightful excess, keeping
Me awake, evenly pitched
Between heavenly rest and
Fitful restlessness, I see the beauty
Of living right out there on
The edge, forever ghost-leg muscles
Tensed, waiting for that pitch too far,
Listing ever so slightly, far from skew,
Thoughts keep me awake, of life,
Of her, of you, yet still my mind,
Far from calmness, wanders the breadth
And depth of finder’s way, today
Just another, drop in the bucket,
One more seesaw flash
Of inspiration lost, time burned
Away, like so much cheap coal
Burnt black with the deadness of
Foiled minutes and drowned dreams,
A new dawn of self arises,
Awakening the real rolly-poly me,
Another persona to fuel the movement,
Just another onion layer to see.