Maxi Pad

Take it strand by strand
like sand or hair
caught between the fingers
of hot damn
and saliva runs thick
like syrup in the jaws of death
Why?
Why?
Why?
I ask that of grey haired pontiffs pontificating on reefs
found only out there by surf tamers rides
not knowing when the drums stop
harrassing the brain
beating their pulse into my cortex
telling me what is wrong or right
should I march to a different message
or let little strands of hair refract the light
letting me in on a secret only to be known
by men who walk away
and women who rub their shoulders
and let them both know that
all is ok
always