At times I rhyme
Well, mostly by design
The words out-cast like a firehose blast
Dousing to back-lit fire being kindled in my soul

But at times they drip slow and diberate like honey falls instinctively from its hive
Drop after drop dropping to stay alive
Forming into pulsating puddles where the ripples are thick and purposed
Expanding ever so subtle

Sometimes the words get muddled
Crushing to one another from the cone of my brain to the soul of my funnel
The letters all combine and become illegible
Until it’s a sea of homeless text
Vexed and indelible

Here I get stuck and remember the times
That the cataract attack can not subtract
The brilliance that once lingered from my wrist to my finger
Mirroring a dimming image
Of a voiceless singer whose mouth has been rendered a hollow shell of translation

It’s days like this
It’s a daze like this
Where there’s no blaze in my fist
When I plead with my uncooperative wrist
To come back to life and stop fighting itself because this time will be missed

For as high as my depths go
The are equally countered by sorrow
My pendulum rests at its best at 180
When it hits 270 I search the heavens for a tree or life who’s limbs hang low
To protect me from the sun whose rays have scorched my thumb leaving no fingerprint to prove
Who I am and who I’m not
When it rotates 360 there is no discernible time amidst my clock

So at times I can remember
At times I don’t
Remember the times
I could remember
And sometimes I won’t