Poem: Albatross

 

Albatross

 

the pain 

bent low, quiet and clandestine,

a thief, an ESP spoon, a supplicant's spine.

it skulked in the same old circle,

that cul de sac of critical neurons

stricken amid the collective blob;

that same old circuit,

which kept misfiring to ensure

the whole behaved badly,

heavy of heart.

a certain fuse

sparked more than the rest,

such a sweet, not-so-innocent misdeed.

it taunted, orbited, bright as false joy,

pure in revolve as a wedding ring;

and yet calamitous, 

destined to constrict;

so when the blob talked,

the words flung cruel,

birthing braids of hurt snakes--

snakes which struggled, wriggled,

cursives caught in torn pages of love.

they fizzled that way, latched together,

tangled till limp.

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6/23/24... 

10/31  "which" replaces  "that"

10/30 significant changes later in the day