To Arms, To Arms

(His)

This world’s gone all cracked
and cattywampus crazy again
and oh, I wish we could be
ghosts with transparent skin
and checkered hands, polka
-dot spots that say
king me if you can.

It’s a big ol’ mess down here
below. But this, see?
I am free
f
a
l
l
i
n
g

into gentle arms,
where I can just
(peace)
be
still
and know.

 

..
prompted by poetic asides. 

 

 

 

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