we’re not getting anywhere like this

it’s the usual
mess, in a way
stressed, day to
day, not knowing
if we’ll untangle
our tendons any
time soon. tenuous
in trepidation.

today, I sit
directionless
driving, deciding
if it’s worth it
to try
and poem this, or
perhaps test this
trickle of mindfulness.

I know
the circus always
called to us. echoes
of honey stretch across
my memory. our silhouettes
creep onto the stage
engage the silks, we
traipse towards the
trapeze, squeeze into
outfits we know will

we’re not getting anywhere like this

never fit, and return
to our stomachs.
knotted, sideways, yet
sorted. a safe strange-
ness nestled into the
soft traces.

for now,
we sit: mindless
and we’re certainly not getting
anywhere like this
but
maybe, I’ll mellow into this
muddle, for a little while anyhow
and
maybe, calamity was the
concept here. and now,
maybe,
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspI’m not afraid to continue the silence.