Edge City

Edge City
Isn't Pretty
But it is
So down
To What Kind of Hedge
You can keep
From cutting on
Or too much off.
And your head
sliced too thinly
to matter
no matter
what scans through
any of what you think
you have headed for
in your process
to process processing.

Can you keep
both slippery sliders,
those feats of
"don't fail me now"
faith in still taking
steps at all
on the slopes
of either side
of understanding?
Because that edge will be
forced up to greet you,
and separate
all of your best connections.
And yet balance
has to straddle something.
Doesn't it
strike you then
that you landed
on a big black,
the depths of old,
Panther Cat,
that's also Siberian Snow
Tiger tearing
as the swell
of titanic tides
make her wants to be,
and just as sharp
as any dissecting perception
could be, with this cold
coherence resonating
from eyes that beacon
as they becken
and always seduce
you into the not so pretty,
but oh so enthralling,
of that falling,
away
that letting go can be,
such perfect destructing
in reconstructing.

But you don't
let yourself fall
away too far
to not come back
again and take that step
back across
where you know
you have to live.
In that city
that isn't pretty
but still takes you
on to hold out
for more cutting
forays into you
and how you can be
remade time
and time again.
If you balance
balancing;
the knowing
and the being;
the continuous circle
for that faith
in thoughtful, loving,
purpose.