Long Philosophyblue Poems

My Blue Ribbon Wrangle Box

I refuse to think of these days as melancholy.
The “s” has been missing on my keyboard for about a year now,
and in that year I have felt great pleasure, surmounted
great obstacles, and have wrangled
and tormented over false outcomes;
the delusory greener grass.

Yet these are the days I am to discover all of this.
I am to walk out of the cage and stand back, turning around to gaze
at the various compartments of my Blue Ribbon Wrangle Box:
The hinges, pulleys, ropes, splices,
bevels, strapping, horns, buzzers, clocks, and radios
that have encumbered and ran its chaotic push towards
A function built and conceived by man.

I am outside of it now
And I dare threaten to call these days
melancholy just because I miss all my meaningless gauges.

At yet I still stand at the doorstep,
in the silent light where Luminosity begins,
the saddest place of all. It's here 
that I find attainment in one direction and attachment in the other.

My Blue Ribbon Wrangle Box haloes 
from the white glow of a hidden crescent moon.