A thought, a poetic thought, "Orquesta de La Calle"

Three fourteen second breaths, 42 seconds of eyes closed re-positioning of the self, and everything is clear and vivid and worthwhile to describe, to imbibe.

***

Drinking in, the world fills us,
Vessels for input.
Expressing out, we churn the world
Machines for output.

Suspicion is an ugly word for curiosity
The yin of it.

To reencounter the self.
The constant process of forgetting
That is necessary to grow
Adapt to new potentiality.

***

"Orquesta de La Calle"

It is not that when I reenter the strength of my mind
That I am remembering.
I am emerging new
And the old synpases are a road
Now well trod
Beaten
And its lines become the steps in an ever more intricate dance
Worn and worn through boredom
Mastered in the wandering when I grew disgruntled
From the lack of shelter
But eventually,
I breathe deep
Forty-two seconds
Three breaths in
Three breaths out
And I can dance in the rain
Dance where I had tripped
Quothe with his family dead and his head filled with trauma
He learned to play with five strings
And so I strum with my toes
My own discontentment.
Occassionally, some road is newly paved
But it is rare these days.
My road is gray.  Or it is rock.  Or pounded to dirt.
On the gray I stomp and batter a drum of my feet
On the rock I slide as a clashing cymbol crosses the wavelengths of rattling
On the dirt I somersault,
Catch myself on my hands,
By the end my entire body has found a special place or five to leave its imprint.
These are the pathways most worn,
Form the instrumentals where I am free to spread the best of myself
The greatest opf my potential
In bewteen the balance acts of wearing the rock
And the pavement
They are small patches of dirt
But more have been patched
I have earned these puddles of mental dexterity,
And when I can find a grip on them
My road
My dance
Thrives.
Empowered to trample the less worn ground more
Slide and trample
March,
Percuss the uneven levels
Percuss them until one day, perhaps,
It can, someday all be dirt
And I can dance for eternity to my own beat
The beat of my heart the beat of the world
But that is madness or immortality,
Impossible.
So I dance for its own sake,
Revel when I find moments of brilliance
And take the rest as a challenge
And in the pounding of my steps
With space for breath
I try to make as even and controlled an orchestra
Of the beaten road
Actualized in the dashes, spins, crashes.