Digress

A break that takes over the curse,
biting at the chomping bridle,
words slow to flow from a shaking head,
drifting in the soft moonlight of decades, 
but it's only years that sift downward.

Water needs to flow, a simple bodily quenching,
and it will flow in its cycle,
furthering another cycle.
Why the digresssion?

The new era is not so focused.
Comprised more of myself,
more of the broad general forever,
knowing everything, seeking everything,
drifting amongst the can-be and the might-be
and the would-be and the only-if.
Dreams, worries, desires, vanities.

A focus of life that must flow from this point,
a deepening of some palm-line.
The crystal refraction of light from a glass,
envisioned during a gulp, sings some sort
of distant song to my eyes, no longer tired,
no longer reacting to something dirty.