When the chaos grows thin

Maybe we can’t lace our boots anymore
but we can lace our hearts,
running threads of cold regret,
mindless irritation
and ever loving hatred.

No one who is anyone that can say
when someone
will call for us,
but when we meet
I’d like it to be
slow
and unravel
like the empty era that it is.

Pick the regeneration from the bottom of the pole,
undermined beyond exercise of a
panoply sadly forgotten.
Each double entry
a closeted fool,
everlasting disillusion
brings you a new you.

Switch stitch
Madam Adam
hosiery decaying
ultimate date.

There swings from my right arm a new day dawning, where apple orchards and bluebirds taste just as sweet.

Being completed
never meant
being happy.
– May 27, 2024

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