Gravel lines the paths
of my neurons.
texture organic, it sounds
as if my woes
are cracking out
of speckled memory eggs.
some of the past
will cackle right away
while others will sway
to the smile melody
dancing on my lips.
my belly brain cupboard
is sorted, can to box,
plastic to tin.
silence in the dark,
the unfolding of me
into this day,
drags thoughts
into a new rhythm.
I know that now,
there are two aitches
in rhythm.
M. Flannery
June 2025
~~~~~~~~~~~
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