Don't Get Caught

And your tears dilute the cracks
of pain you're keeping pitched up
like a tent; nothing left to track
upstream, want of release: stop.

And think of everything inside
a sharpened log, down the river
let it amble, drowning in pride.
Let it gurgle in a tense shiver.

And effuse the marauders down
as well, let them pass by the room
with nothing in it. Let them frown
and torrent; gone they be soon.

And listen to the sound of brackets
that idle around requests. Life is
the full sentence, the pouring best
outside the cup without the fizz.

And protect the call of the wild from
that which materialises. Encounter
a scene with waterworks, a comb
to graze the ground as not to falter.

And feel what you do, and feel what
you are, and feel what streams trickle,
and feel what waters you had forgot.
See, chased happiness is the most fickle
because the mercurial is but a despot
in disguise, waiting with a broken sickle.