Bridges & Vines

Bridges & Vines

Bridges lead to highways which lead to road, That lead to side streets; Which secretly show us where parks are — where paths are, And they lead to avenues that lead to circles; That can take us to Boulevards which could lead to trails, And back to streets again.

Vining our fruits and veggies — Some of them processed as wine for fine times; Not knowing we’re actually seeing an overabundance of imbalance with a tight squeeze, And cautions lead us back to squash varieties; So we can let go of thoughts unhealthy, And uncertainty becomes natural again and has a way of reconnecting us to humanity; And our imperfect perfections.

Bridging me, Making me want to smile at a real he; Not related to me, Learning to repurpose creatively; So you can be entertained, And I can see myself making it; And all this 50-sum, Been connecting the “we’s” somewhat unintentionally; So that I know what ‘be’ means.

Vining me, Wining me, conceptually trying to align me with ways I whole-heartedly disagree with; While I continue to shape me, Twine me, twirl me, swirl me; And them be taking a hurl with me, you see, Calling me ‘frugal me,’ flying me, spying me, Frying me; Thinking of “me” when I can outshine your we’s, Even with the ideas you took from me; As if we’re competing.

Water might be under quite a few bridges, When my mind doesn’t want to meet me where I am; And being stoic, bridge-like or viney [even sometimes] means, I can’t be everything; And if I appear to be more than my defined, That for some reason wants to believe that everybody else’s “try” wins; Or that life is a game, Then I must forgive myself; And remember my poetry.