When things are going swell

its kinda hard to tell.

I don’t really notice

til we’re all screwed up,

what flowed my song before

doesn’t sing, right now.

 

Now is what I notice

so full of this reviewing

with hindsight’s rich complexities

where foresight looked like black and white

but, for this enameled late night’s now,

we can’t make us go.

 

If now could be smooth-structured

free of pesky dark anomalies,

if white was always bright

and night was always beyond our sight

then we could fly and dance our octaved harmonies

and skip decaying dissonant syncopation,

to cosmic rhythm’s breathing heart beat

never noticed, heard or seen

invisible, this primal paradise

when Yin greets Yang greets Yin again

revolving regenesis, eternal spring

water and kinship flow,

but not yet.

 

We forge ahead with drowsy rain-drenched dreams

that pool and swell

burst bubbles of despair.

When life smooth rides along

my song flows silent,

too full to even tinkle.