Grinding Wheels

Almost cut my hair.
My crew cut had to go.
My compliance was killing me.
My non-compliance seems to be too:)
Rocks and hard places team up to mortar and pestle my ass.
The case could be made, the cask could be filled, the fields could be plowed
to allow rebirth into a loving, trusting, energetic soldier for
self reliance with a help the neighbors bent.
Twist and shout, blow about, and ride the river’s flow to, to,
its destination,
the Mississippi delta perhaps.
Melted at the delta smelter
helter skelter in the cellar of the sky.
Dry land expanding dancers prance about the place.
Right in our faces
racing into the psyches of each and every pair of eyes
longing to cry cleansing tears.
Fears have had their way in recent days.
It is time to put them under the five hundred pound rocks again,
for a while.
They are resilient sons of guns so
don’t let unexpected returns throw you.
Just remember they get their power from us fools.