I'm flexible, I say, not unstable, eh,
like those bridges with hinges
(not during earthquakes...),
but I get the morning shakes
when I think what it takes
just to buy
(very much less make)
these humble corn flakes

Getting it done

If I can just...
get over this hump
get past this squeeze
get through this push…

Just wait, if I can just…
Get this last task
under my belt
(like a meal devoured)
over my shoulder
(like a conquered bride)
in my rearview mirror
(like a fled town)

I’ll be satisfied
recognized
justified

Power runs in lines,
connects A with Z with time,
leaves traces of its grime and shapes (of) what’s fine;
power lines draw conclusions and sketch signs of beginnings;
power lines limit and form channelings and diversions,
perversions and polishings, abolishings and new versions:
lines of flight and might.

Fighting and uniting, omnipresent and invisible,
power lines our pockets, fills our eye sockets,
spills out of forgotten hills where the guerrilla
are hid beyond the supposedly set power grid;
there the lines are oblique and slack, fit in the cracks,
spread in waves and then rush on back…

These particular lines you read at this present time
might seem to suggest power is whatever
or solely in the eye of the beholder;
not so (for though view creates thought shapes articulation aids action,
a lover's disposition is not wholly determined by the gaze or the glower).

Neither is power so ubiquitous as to be meaningless;
rather, power is placed and displaced through patterns and signs
so diversely dispersed it is often not
recognized-conceptualized-utilized.

May this meandering musing serve to swerve you
to find the lines that preserve you
true to the crew who deserves you

and true to the battle lines that help us all
peacefully pass these troubled times

!