Fifty Nine

Day Fifty Nine:  Finally

In an effort to take care of things

We brushed up on our sarcasm, our subtext,

And trailed through deep mud-ridden paths

Of soliloquy and snide responses

To truly acknowledge something rough, intimate,

And we lost everything along the way, the dirt griming our feet.

With every breath we find a new shout to say, a new way to try,

And yet we are completely out of our minds

With a lost sense of language.

Pure in every sense that language we used to know,

And yet all of it lost amongst the tree’s, in soft allegory.

Oh, lost, oh lost and insecure between each finger sits more

Instinct, more frailty,

Oh come on now losing it further a risk a jump

Off every cliff, every fall depicting a story

That we tried to hide in subtlety,.

We are too frank though,

Too frank for our own goods

So we got lost again, lost and trailing through

Dirt and shit and roughness,

So insecure?  Not anymore.

With large packs on our backs and rivers in tow

I think we’ve come across a primal and driven kind,

Those who speak with grunts, lost their mind.

Seen through screens, read through text

That although important

Can be misread,

Oh language, you are lost with us too,

Did you happen to jump?

That cliff may be safe for a limp body,

But words formed by structure and sound

Are no match for the thudding, solid ground.

So writing it seems to prove difficulty

More difficult, I find, than any other,

To inspire new, originality of the then,

So ephemeral, so organic

That within the biology of my own being I find

It grows from somewhere I’ve lost inside,

Well, maybe not lost,

But it hides from me, my own language forestry.

So, no, I have lost no mind of mine,

No language gone, no idea’s fluttering through my fingers,

But it seems that they choose a specific time to emerge

From the depths, from each and every cave,

So that although I may want one now,

It only comes when it’s ready,

When it’s ready to show it’s head above this muddy, shitty, ground.