to the man

to the man (stick it)


.. a stick from the fallen limb or branch or the curve of your mountains

life happens while you're asleep or awake,

the rested action in an aligned traction of the heart that beats slowly against,

the world will tell you .. they will say,

(and) only the universe whispers, the trails leading into the next day,

a mounted horse, or the horse that draws near,

riding, a stallion, wild child of the water,

the man is not a man but a cloud in the sky,

the next it says to choice, the taken and your hand,

that in living the life you love, you'd befriend it, you'd stop in the mirror and halt the accusations, where the stronger an opinion held, it forms as a pool frozen, until your wide arms melt it again, and the thoughts of "how"/"when", the garage lifted, steam toward the sun & the holes in the ozone don't burn you, they just open your blinded eyes

copyright 2018 ⓒ / forrest gallagher