an event, a trigger

that shouts into stale air

breathing forth life

cautious, wary, climbing like vines

around a heart

of something not yet determined, choices shaping

existence, why gets replaced by how,

readily absorbed, drunk down, fulfilled

at the surface level, a distraction – eternity frowns

from anxious scrambling, contest of peacocks come about

with grand appearances: finalist strut about

as vines reshape hearts beating wildly from all the sensations

without stale, broody, damp wet earth

reminding, of what? a stupor has come about

when temporary is lived as infinity

then the vastness of time and space crushes down

on saplings who believed themselves wiser than gods,

peacock feather get thrown back

to sweet, patient, wet earth capturing all the junctures, crossroads,

each vine engorged to remake

of ends extending to more, extending to heaven,

the contents of that paradise filled with earthly delights,

the mind moans, groans, how to get that piece?

ends ending with a fork, a twist, myriad actions

locking in a being identified, a being made, a being lived

as happenstance came about, a miracle or disaster

retold by countless story tellers … … does it matter?

merits, demerits, allowances, fortune, misfortunes

splatter on this canvas, a painter brushes against the tides

of change: tug, repel, submit, coerced, forced

vines and mind meet together in one odd maze of ivory

towers, theories, real life lived from people scraping by.

an ignition, a spark, not electricity of connection,

blows, bruises, statements to be made then it becomes quiet

while others simmer, go with the flow, the nouveau riche

pout, throw tantrums, remain bewildered at the world of less

not wanting to flip another burger.

how awful, gestures made, eye brows raised,

happenstance mixed in with the concrete, the rock, stones,

pebbles breaking, falling off the cliff

, gold ore, a rolling lucky streak, millionaires are made

till the last breath vanishes, journeys made, life recast,

and heaven sits, waits, when happenstance gives, takes,

to what appears to cruel, chaos, heavenly

it matters not when psychological stasis is obtained,

bliss, when a chorus of maidens and gentlemen sing the same choir

bliss as a demented old man sigh his last breath

all his skeletons erased from rehearsing, retelling, till

the damp wet earth became still.

angels and demons, heaven or hell, or nothing,

the stories retold do not shape the painter’s brush,

god, devil or nothing untouched

by the vines, the tides, the happenstance

coloring once a white canvas, the choices we make our own,

that final touch a gift or curse of free will.