Rope

The amusement of lips and

The anxiety of everything I

Always forget balance the

Seasons of all, tearing be-

tween each other, creating

Elemental anomalies inside

Of me, where life is night,

And in night: cold is lack

Of direction; peace is ease

Of distraction; love is in-

somnia, neither with dis-

cretion; footsteps of 

Fluttering black water

Are either unassigned

Fate or lack of will to

Create; every empty

Frame of snow melts

Upon arrival. The days

Are pointed - know-

ledge and sight. The

Wind in me is death.

Blood moves like 

Veins with sticky

Permanency, burned

To be free; whirled

Round bones, buil-

dings, and history.

Fabled, forgotten,

Or both, tossed on

Table - perhaps

Placed- placed

Under table leg

Solely to stable,

Propped on table

Applied for its

Aesthetic label;

Blood is hope;

Liquid, unfray-

ing, strands

of life, 

learning

to rope.