Beautiful Cynicism III

dis-com-bob-u-la-ted
I love to go a-wandering/Along the mountain track/And as I go, I love to sing/My knapsack on my back
this song replays itself over and over between my temples. or not
the actual song, but a version of itself
a modern-day remixing of old and new
a marriage of yodels and beats
idiosyncrasies
but this is not exact, not correct
for where do I wander?
(I wander out yonder)
my mind wanders when I work (shh, don’t tell)
my fingers wander over his curves and angles
my eyes wander and settle upon beauty
my tongue wanders over delicious territory
my feet wander until they hurt
I am constantly in motion, even when at a standstill.
discombobulated? perhaps
it’s a constant state, not an aberration.
and yet, regardless how many times I’m surprised
(plesantly and unpleasantly both)
how many times I’m disappointed,
how many times I’m doubtful,
how many times I’m impressed,
how many times I’m unsure,
how many times I’m broken,
I remain hopeful.
Regardless…
a heavy night leads into a clear morning
and it’s just that.
everything becomes clear, and the night previous
slinks away into the darkness
the tint of blue in the sky,
the glint of sunlight on ancient windows,
the scent of coffee bubbling nearby,
the hustle and bustle of daily life all around
somehow makes everything all right.
and I feel it inside of me, growing
sometimes snarling, sometimes purring,
always growing:
that undeniable, unerring sense
that everything is going to be
fine.