Four Lines

Once lost our balance and graces
go for rides on big flying boats
around the oval balance floats
while graces assume their places.

While the graces assume their place
we try to dance on two left feet
dipping under the wrong up beat
behind the time with every pace.

With every pace behind the time
our rhythm shifts from twist to waltz
the pattern outlines all foot faults
squeezing folly from pure sublime.

From sublime to stumbling folly
should be a long arduous climb
but folly needs so little time
a blink to slide through to sorry.

Only blink to slide to sorry
the step from firm earth to quicksand
asphalt to weed choked dirt path and
day abruptly darkened eerie.


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