Trust

Simply writing the word trust creates a cascade of rhymes, rhythms and contrasting symmetries within my mind. Trusting myself to navigate my waking hours is akin to a skydiver trusting their parachute. Sure, I’ve logged in hours upon hours of observation and training, however I still don’t know what to expect from my own being much less the vastness of infinity within which I constantly find myself. And, it turns out that trusting the parachute that is the psychological and emotional construct known as Dirty Intel continually proves to work.

drifting along the bold broad strokes marking

still vital hopes and dreams

of long dead primates.

sifting strong cold odd croaks harking

wills tidal gropes and screams

dove song fed by traits

lost within the technicolor

swirls of subjective history.

riffing on quantum uncertainty while sharking

the dance floors and seams

pop culture creates

whiffing on every attempted grasp at the arching

tangentialities known as fellow beings

stop future hates

toss them into the technicolor

swirls of hope and whimsy.

-Dirty Intel