D. Avraham ~ Musings

Only his hands

Gnarled and thin

Like wrinkled tattered

Weathered broadcloth

Showed

From beneath

The starch white

Cuffs of a

Pressed Polyester

Shirt

.

Only his hands

Quick and light

Like bright dancing

Flames of light

Expressed

From behind

The stark pallid

Edge of a

Gruff and hard

Mein

.

Only his hands

Nimble and fleet

Like cool clean

Water cascading

Rushing

From between

The chiseled stone

Wall of a

Cold and cruel

Carcass

.

Only his hands

Betrayed him.

We live in our memories

Those we recall,

And those we create

And laugh at all those realities

That slip and fall

From our mental plate

Why shouldn’t we aggregate?

.

Scraps and hints

Fragments of hue

Head pounding

Stomach churning

Pressure mounting

It’s all askew.

.

We live in our memories

Those we recall,

And those we create

And laugh at all those realities

That slip and fall

From our mental plate

Why shouldn’t we aggregate?

Otherwise like mist

We

Would

Simply

Dissipate.