the

arrangement of the muscle gleaning down from where i think,

sweeps a kind of pedestal of invisible ink

to creep beneath the linger of this secret i bequeath,

just below the surface from where calm, I fake so neat....

.

while

spinning yarns of obscure musculature strangely calm,

I brag a serene calmness more like numbly painted dawn

similar to cartooned caricature, Rockwell's ideal,

Lord, get me to where I might be true to me and thus heal,

dreams back into placards facing my heart's keel,

thus the fork to bring me back to life,

I kneel

and ask you to give me the strength to let this be

to bring me back to life,

to bring me back to me

..Rose Loya 2012