White Water

Wonderful use of rhythm drags you in

Random Acts...

Awake and dreaming

inside bended shadows

and used half cigarettes.

I’m sullied and worn

wounded through verse

and battered broken verbs.

I hear the soft swaying tint

of whispered vibrations

across an alright riddle

of a curving culling river

where we meet drenched

within the shallow hole

of our fractured nature.

Show me the watered pain

of bruised, tired depths

and I’ll let you embrace

the tender tide of years.

Give me your dismayed history

and I’ll stream our sonnet

punctuated by blushing blood

and flooding the entanglement

…of our former selves.

A course of rippling routes

swayed by a persuasive compass

guiding us toward the softness

of forgetting and remembering

who we can be with the truth

…of our humbled hands.

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