The ambassador of
my mind has brokered temporary peace.
Up and down, left and right,
nature-nurture
will have to step away from the negotiation
table.
Sinews and joints have stored winter’s
gear
in accordance to the cold season’s lease.
I have polished the handrails and mended
the sails
for voyages to be made when the sea
invites me
with the gravity of tides from moons yet
to rise.
The grass is cut and the palsied sprinkler
is ready to rain.
Spring flowers are blooming in reckless
array.
Silence holds sway as noon rolls quietly by
like a lollygag wheel with no theorem to
try.
My skin is laid in repose on the couch,
arms crossed, a pharaoh who’s down for the
count.
I fall into this well-tailored suit with
no seams.
For the next hour, or maybe for two,
I will live inside myself and banish all
dreams.
Let Ishmael go down to the sea in a ship
to measure his seasonal soul with
adventurous tales.
The best way to level the playing field
or settle the score is to chase an
afternoon nod, not whales.
Let there be only when, not why or how.
I’ll live in my skin and do nothing for
now.
~William Hammett
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