Rollick Green

The enthusiasm of the night’s breech is palpable

I can feel how much you want this

To open and be taken

As if I saw you and you are joyful for it

That we may still smile when the cloaks reveal the bones

Grinding knuckle cartilage to discomforting discussions of lubrication

Yuk, Yuk, Muck, Muck

Where fears spin the heads of focus

Into worry and self-conscious grinds of permanence and options

Is he tall enough; does he motion his tango on beat?

Are his eyes too much gutter-punk Peter Pan never in a homeland?

Where certain subjects taste like insecurity no matter how many times he eats them

So he is on edge as the leaves hit his lips

As if the whole world sees him as a fraud

Wondering why anyone would want this sludge bug maggot sack

Trying to reverse the perils of self-definition

Standing in the present, blocking the labyrinth stories

Reverberating limitations in a varied or common flavor

That his worst was not too bad enough to warrant excommunication

Racking how easily self-sabotage is accessible

At the pierced veil of contact promising isolation

And all its calming numb and assumptions that we were hated as a default

Saving the court time to arbitrate the facts and circumstances

Instead of a standard that we are not meant for partnership

We are this or that or some story of folly and crap

So damn son decide which life you will live

In these tock tick years to wallow or dance

Even poorly is better than oblivion

And yet the sun’s blade sits just outside the city’s gates

Raising the farmer’s seed into a sky of felicitous wheat

The stone gray is a world away and the green is rollick

Ah son, breathe and go adventuring