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“Play on the instrument of the heart even if it be broken.”
    ~ Darshan Singh, Love at Every Step: My Concept of Poetry (1989)

Now that the trial’s long over
And I’ve at last left it to follow its natural inclination
Down shoulders and back
Often over my face
I wonder at its impracticality
Why this prolific growth
Could’ve ever been survival trait
Then thinking of Ms. Goodall’s companions
Grooming one other
Picking off lice
Those tiny morsels of protein for snacking
In moments of oral fulfillment
Touch to touch
And thinking of the effort so many invest
Rendering it presentable
Oh so fashionable
So memorable the strands
That’ve adorned a favorite face or three
In wavy frames
I realize the obvious
Result of selection
For joint creativity
For intimate interaction
For eye-catching motion
For play

Innate to our makeup
Deep in our code
Such soft attraction
Such shame
Modern Western man
Strong independent firm proper decent square
In God’s own direction
In business’ cold dealing
In pleasure’s own denial
In repression’s own image
Has sliced off
What’s not allowable
Is fulfillment
Is self-worth self-image especially the joint self-concept
Of sensuality
Both desirable and responsive
Is play

As for me
Once nature or God directed its course
It constrained my vision
So I could look within
Gaze skyward
Or apprehend what’s straight ahead
But never again downward
Adapted as a social mammal
That had lost almost all but this
Wired like any other
To find these strands attractive
In longing to reach toward the beloved’s
Just the same we
Who may have thought deepest
Who may be most visual
Who before this clipping in Philistine severity
Needed downcast aspect
Once no more grace was to fall
From above
Can such loss really appear strong
As though we could do without caring contact
When in truth
We’re weakened
Separated segregated defeated
Sweet Delilah
Why crave the blinding wealth of the impotent
Their talking points
Their self-satisfaction self-congratulation especially their joint self-concept
Of empty acting and sanctioned shears
Looking if not down
Then ahead toward nothing
But yuppy condos hot rods vacation cruises landfills sedatives industrial waste dieoff
Why not ditch ‘em
In the long days to come
And nights too
Let’s play

Thanks always returns

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