Training Day

In all of life
It is the soft things that matter most

How amazing that the cotton spur
So hard on naked hands
Could be spun into something
As decadent as a cumulonimbus

The prize fighter
Made of meat
Tight tendrils of cables
Tied into knots
The core, letting go
Becomes mashed potatoes
A snowman of spun sugar

And in all that is
A steam engine
Bringing an end
To anything not paying particular attention
To the superfluous tracks
Like ribbons at your feet
--
2.7.13

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