Turbulence

Six of Wands

what is something lasting?
something with meaning?
what is lost and what is profound?
is you, then me
the antonym to
passive and aggressive?
if victory awaits 
why the weight? 
why the wait?
I am trying to stop, I and eye and I am
the cause of my blind, of my dislocated 
the vision gets tweaked from 
the prism of remembrance
of dismemberment
if success is there, waiting
where am I and 
why is it so close to dismantling always?
 
with success comes fear 
of having to produce more than 
you can birth
the pregnant belly
of creativity doesn’t stop growing 
regardless of the stillness
anger touches the fringes of my soon to be 
rotted corpse
I am fascinated with death because it is the only thing left
I haven’t experienced
in that way I am triumphant
at first spank you are blue and green 
and with age you are red, orange 
upon death
a gray descends and finally you are underwater and bloated again
a body of gas with nowhere to go but back to the dirt