Hot Potato Dial Down

Hot Potato Dial Down

Let it all go obliterate, hands down and satiate

This need to be right, this swell to be stubborn

This energy committed to self-analysis like an oven

The temperature is too high; the pressure is bursting the sides

Of properly cooking any baked orange potato without bursting

Nothing as sweet as learning, this output tastes hard and disgusting

Needing so much more time at a divergent temperature

Dialed-down in order to be ready for serving

Put the produce back in and adjust these dials

Bend the bastard before he conforms to the form of

Self-righteous condemnation of the other vegetables

For not showing up on time

Have to let so much more go in order to know the beauty of a margin for error

Have to be willing to give what I want to come back in

Such a rigid handle, bare-hand the pan and rack, leaving marks

These recycling blisters grown callus and stark honesty in the handling

What is the need for asking for assistance when one hand does all the grabbing?

Have to let go in order to know the peace of being able to simply speak

To grab things just out of reach, knowing you would do the same

Thinking the assumption of kindness like a book on the minds of

Who ever may come, who ever may know that I am one of the good guys

And all I have to do is show up and say here are the limits of my life,

Would you like to pray, with me and hold and take me on adventures

Who wants dependency like a currency to rationalize staying together?

I must stand alone.  I must let go, control to God and what will be, will

And what will not, may rise and soften and cushion and buffer the rectangular

Cell walls of this carbohydrate tent, ready to consume whenever

The beauty of a complement, the ease of this steam in the release

This is my life without oven mitts, this is my peace.