This uncertain (a poem)
This uncertain, ice-cold core,
This uncertain, twisted braid of thought,
on a distressed page, torn away by tape.
A ripped up, de-nuded raw layer of paper dermis,
etched like a tattoo; the nib catches, halts the flow,
giving pause to the flow, the stalled inking of words, a mark
Upon the skin.
The pen peels away the distressed dermis; 'Free residue of blocks,
flitting tendrils, looting / shipping love's dream.'
Lost in the headlights, struggling, tripping, falling through this uncertain night.
Ripped up, removed and replaced with imperfect words and uncertain futures,
like Hungarian carven headstones, giving clues to the life that's gone below,
a thumbnail wooden journey of nicks and notches exposed to the sun and the
telling a lifespan of uncertain years