Six Mile Creek
Stark icebergs crisscrossed the birth. No one was looking. Your name did not matter, nor your face. Dollar signs hedged elsewhere avoiding the ignominious. Not knowing the game of pitch and toss, the spirit of performance clung to your eyes. Determined to create, there was nothing to stop you. A boat was requisitioned. The mates played along. A future promised silk slippers and gold leaf. Trembling at the thought of combustion no stone was left unturned. The night forced dark and sparkling monologues across a burning sky. The door keeper, cradle rattler, sensed an escape. Down came large hands of misfortune. Down came threatening words wreaking of displeasure. Like incessant vermin, harsh judgement layered thick upon the nursery pulsating into chilled bones. Dreams froze underneath a turbulent current, out of sight but not out of reach.
Crutches were created to persevere. Strange acts of good and bad pummeled the walls of your life. Can it be or will it be or shall I be that which you want? Trouble stirred in the next room where half drunk adults sneered at upward mobility. Endless hallways pitched in the dark. You sought a sliver of new growth for each deadly demon of disregard, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting. The drownings helped you swim. The punctures mended by noon. Some days were merry and full of joyous expectancy. Venturing so close to the edge that the hot breath of hell beckoned to take the plunge. Still you pushed on, year after year, decade after decade, not knowing why it was thus. Belief wrapped its dread finger inside and out. When the fertile earth could no longer revive, you danced across rooftops running from pursuant trusts.
Here it is known. Stand tall on the new precipice. Look to the next story. The next bounce across the wine swept sea to clear shores of new deceptions. They have heard your voice before you arrived and all seems well. The road you took could not be fathomed so you left it behind for safekeeping with the androids, where feelings were dispensed with as pointless. They have little use for it but there your actions remain encased in bronze investments. Onward to heat, color and light. The ancient understanding, fiercer sorrows. If one remains hungry, the product rings to the joy of satisfaction finally conquered. Ring the bell of brave doings. Looking back is not recommended. Touch ground without reserve.
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