The Swell and Bell of Beat

in the way that your lips shimmer and your eyes flash simile-smiles making many reflections with the irregular undulations rhythm'ng off your tongue, with words flying out lyrically, kissing everyone we are touched and easily forgotten in this age of impermanent ink, with our ears perched high on a mystery, we're overlooked for speaking in clouds expectant of thunder, for rustling leaves in a tree, for threadbare jeans flaking mud from long walks by the river, for taking solace in the Sea among writers we are the infirm, the mad heretics of desire, ridiculed for whiskers and soft-eyes, for bumping into enjambments, fish-like and working out destiny by changing it, moving it, Moon like... we are the occasional ones, risking decay and our sanity for these holy short comings and goings, rather than face the impossibility of facts or that self-righteous blind-eye of economics ... there is mercy in this daring, there is an art to this astonishing, beyond these reasons which trap us, beyond our need to pay the rent, while the world conspires to ignore us, we swell