Blowing Bubbles
If she had to cross the rubicon for lack of sorting colours
A Rubik’s cube remained an unsolved puzzle
If numbers granted her the wish to live another happy day
Sudoku would refuse transformation from a maze
If chess could move to manifest the pawn’s hopeless plight
She’d marry black and white together
If life dealt yet another set of hands tied to brave surrender
A poker face turned red hot poker in her eye
But when emotions garnished poetry and muses’ feathers
Ink fell into place from selfless fountain quills
Quite possibly she is unbalanced on a spread sheet of lost time
And yet her pen embraces harmony with words
Pythagoras still dangles angles and straight lines in broken sequence
But there is no bloody razor in Archimedes’ bath
She has no rubber duck but sails with Poe’s dark ravens
Unfolds her plaits for darkened Sylvia
When foam caresses treasure island in her tub at night
She sails the seven magic oceans
A dolphin croaks another oracle at Delphi’s flood gates
As she postpones hemlock for another day
When she reaches cataracts of blurry vision in despair
Zero sum games twist algorithms of illusion
She cannot square roots and circles will not divide her prime
However much adding up fracture pulls the plug
Regardless of whether steam or tears moisten her parchment
The misty fog finds metaphors to embrace healing
24th January 2020
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