Robert Balun, Ritual

morning and time again
to fit teeth
back into face

repack burdens and secrets
let loose in the deluge of dreams

I look for a refrain
a place to hold meaning
a ritual to carry wreckage

processing inheritance
the electric strung muddled pink delta sky

the rigging of a great ship
its great masts

I swear I’m tumbling toward resolution

as the I slips into time’s
glittery blink

then dark

I swear I see better in the dim
and din

I’ll be fine tomorrow

when pebbles pour
from my mouth

call it the shape of the world
a lock or a key I keep—

this is the part where my teeth fall out

where I let go
inside the great commute

and the body cedes
its light one lumen
one moment spent
gone here

into the next
next

every day dissipates
each sound dissolves

this is a soothsay

listen to the water
boil the frog

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