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The seasons switch places
at the equator.
The great equalizer
reminds the growing pangs
that they, too, have an
expiration date
and my appetite has finally returned
from hiatus.
Hungry for the sake of it.
I've got my mouth full with
all things backhanded
and I'll be damned
if I can't spit out the words
I've wasted breath forming
into sentences. I've got phrases
and phases
the moon wishes she could imitate.
Initiate the final stage
and get full-up
on lost causes
nodded assumptions
gritted teeth grinning and bearing it.
I mean spare me the brass tacks.
I've got tact but only by force
of hand in hapless experience.
I peel back out of the lot with
a lead foot on my
progress.
These past few years have been a mess
but I'd bet the strings I'm tied to
know a trick or two about removing
the stains these days
have left me with.
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