Soul Pot

Soul Pot

The silent drop of mellow orange
Slides down the sides of my soul pot.
Slowly seeps into the darkening, –
Molten measure of my sensibilities.
I get as close as I can get to me,
Without fear, neither relief nor angst.

I can’t see myself on that bank –
Not as clearly as I want to. And yet,
I seem to know the figure out there
As if it was nothing – other than me.
I see stretched across about to tear
Apart, from my being and all of me.

A thin green line marks boundary
And I ignore rule to be on other side,
Midget scratches on the drop’s face
Acrylic peace dissolves in the flight –
Of tethered wings and et al...

Eyes transfixed and clouding –
A restless search in the lees of soul pot.

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