There’s no answer to that query, just a need. A balance that
stays vastly under-weighted or over adjusted. The dancers only walk now, and the
snowboarders’ gear gets hung up early.
The community takes a lot of time to settle after a holiday,
a torrent that rattles the majority of the locals. A sudden desperation that
skews me and us.
Some automatic writing, a forced pen in hand, but there is a
drive, a run to it. The Paris of the south looms in the back of my mind,
veering and steering me.
All this death must need a counterweight, but the scales
only balance when they need to. Fate is a curious pagan in that way.
And she will whisper an uplifting notion in my year.
Ascending to a major tone and echoing encouragement. A beatle-sec sound and cadence.
If the brakeman turns my way, leveling, stopping, balancing and
slowing
Is that what we want,
a pause in the action, a rest in the conflict , unrest in the natural illusion?
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