Poem 296 – Flow & Ebb

Flow & Ebb

when the words don’t flow together

let them stay separated

when the belly inhales & holds the breath
& keeps holding
it will eventually exhale

the itch in my left forearm is deep
a trench of fire tunnelling toward my fingertips
muscles make music in their own sounds

they’re confusing – all the feelings
the sifting through the falling & rolling & gathering
the translation from hum to language

there were so many sesame seeds on the
Tim Horton’s bagel – it was art
butter-shined carb art

it’s okay to be apart
a part of the ebb