Buckled

Not sure which motivation to use
The one with the biggest punch
In each individual pile
The threshold for judgment
Being the only guideline
The use of anything in whole or in parts
With mild distraction being sinister
Unwavering focus the ideal state
Any permutations caused by outside influence
An abomination
And yet, the only system of weights and measures
Inside it's so dark
Why anything would survive in there
On purpose alone
Beyond a whim
Not enough room to maneuver
Nor light to function
Air to be breathed in such trivial streams of bubble
It's no wonder
Things that straddle
Cinch and saddle
Suture the great divide
Hand in hand
With spear and canoe
Briefcase and coffee
Fixations inside any swirl of dirt or sherbet, rubber sole
Make for a jumping off point
Not while riding a horse
Unless for pure enjoyment
--
10.26.09