the way emotion stretches
bends and yields
to accommodate a song,
sometimes deduced down to a note.
a hey-i've-been there
a familiar reckoning
a gauntlet subtly thrown-about.
where will we go after this meandering
after this ghost is chased and conquered.
we feed on the blood of experience
of voices shouted down the street
echoing in a humble haunt,
or windows of lived perception expand wildly
in need of gardening, in need of taming and weeding,
but here we have it,
the final strata-of-existing-out-on-a-limb.