ode to my shoulder

For waving

for turning

for sweeping

and
twisting

and
pushing

pulling

lifting

for
tapping

for all

that free men

have never truly

acutely

praised your name

your name

that

elavates

our good cheer in a raised palms or fists

in an upburst sweep to the heavens high

your name

that humble

quiet

fragile

enclave

that

subtle

niche

where

blood

mesh

merge

with

bone

and

burning

wants

and needs all meet

where

hands

and

arms

and

wrists

rely

so that we quietly perch

in thought

to silently smile

or artlessly cry

you keep us

to our

every

everyday

needs

and we concede

we miss you

we ache over
losing

your

humble

servitude to our desires

only

when we are torn from you...

You

are

an act

of creation

so

delicate

and sure

and pure

for all

the years

you endure

our self inflicted toils...

you are patient with me

when i throw you around

like a rag

or a brutish stone

when you are the secret spot where arms slip comfortably into succulent silky shirts

you are that players joy in seeing flung summer spheres

you are the beginnings of a batters pride and certainty

and when you are gone

all in ache

then

all

i remember

in awe

was your wordless humility

thank you my friend

my companion

till my useful end

who speaks so little

yet comprehends

me for all my

done deeds

understands

that in my

abuses

i hurt myself

and break

this

health

into

morsels

of gratitute

which i must learn again

to enjoy

one movement at a time

one movement at a time

till

everything

is


still


once

more.