Running Amok

date unknown

Like the plethora

of squirrells

I see many

things

checker-boarded,

check-mated,

patterned some strategic

way called by

some and others

or simply a

pattern,

a tangling and

a jig

saw jumbled towards the

ethereal ballroom disco'd

and balled

checked and

mated with something,

anything, all

that matters not

just windings and breath cutting

through dirt and grime borne

drill like

under the grass the lawn worked

toiled, drip by drop

scanned and analyzed by

sprinklers blocking the side-

walks, the pathway

to my morning

my Arabic class talking

about roots and patterns,

slight misconfigurations on some branch

of meaning,

Achillean dipped in verbose alphabet fluid,

to prove this system

towards some goal maybe

just

communication, puzzles,

built by language by

things

chocked and ground up too

to dust,

the squirrels rummaging about

the whole mess up the trunks

of it all

sprawled out and about relaying

glances and glimpses except

instead I remain

speared through hanging from the

Ash --- like a kebab, but

probably not as

amenable to the

palate, unless you birth

among cultures

an appetite for cannabalism ---

on poor starving Midgard

endlessly hungering the prying

eyes

skirting ever near the

canopies.