Bitter Musing ~
The bitter taste,
the bitter taste of sour tea
I did not take the mean black, poignant gleam,
that shimmered in a whirring-circled, roiling stir,
and left me musing over its moor,
to take me back again where I love best,
where my heart can sing in sweet rapture,
where the birds glow and flit and cry,
their cadences, and I gently rest, with my hands splayed,
before the dynamics of them . . .
take me away from the sour taste,
the cold anchoring of my hands, upon-
it cruel distaste,
and burn me not, while I sit here and deeply ponder over its,
shimmering boil, hatred filled heat,
and the blackened tornado,
when the birds flit out of my minds eye ,
and I become aware of my mooring, 'gain,
sitting and gently resting with the
seeing them in my minds eye,
as I listen to the cadences,
of a places that passes above me,
somewhere in my brain within me,
somewhere, somewhere I cannot see,
and the sounds finally fade,
filling me with nothing but this dark taste,
the flows along my tongue now burning,
trembling with the sour thought-
and deep distaste . . .
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