truth

Part I:

Giddy & twirly peeling away the pretty petals of new-found morning glories,

She gives the horizon a skeptical look,

like her sideways-glares

through rearview mirrors.

Snapping her head back, a free-formed laughter escapes

 from her throat,

with shoulders shaking and

belly concaving.

It echoes unexplained, like recent endeavors that

skid beneath the radar and

disappear into the firmament of

the absurd & THE meaningless.

Smirking at the past she pounds at the pavement, despite its lessons of bruises and merciless guerrilla tactics. The rhythmic steps beat out a path unknown, like all the paths that have led her to

This

                        leveled Sunday afternoon.

"Ain’t no thing but the present sista", whisper the cigar-puffing gentlemen,

pursuing her time, and

feeding her lines and

 slipping her dimes.

she caves & crumbles

dropping notions at the confrontation

of these deceptions,

repeated through

guarded neighbors and

shameless media.

May-bay bay-bay, a swirl of the hair, Fists (?!?)  in the air for a "Just Don’t Care" (?!?)…

Then everything falls into place,

Reaching

anticipated homeostasis,

With a half-assed home run,

that skimmed on the bases…

I say let, you say Go . Let, go. Go! Go! Go! Go.., no matter how, just see where it takes you…

Part II:

Free they grew, and free the morning-glories become bedtime stories.

Interweaving morals of heroes

and horrors of zeros and

 melodies of magic and

 notes of nonsense.

It is alllllllllllllllllright.

And in the end,

they are just attempts

to define the:

 impalpable.