my pith stores bravery
and saves humor
for occasion.
laying in wait,
it is a trickster
within a tattooed shell
of stubbornness.
an illusion I have
cultivated for a life
that has left me
no choice but.
off-centered and burnt,
it drums stronger than ever
with mechanical parts
made of gold that stays.
each morning I wind it
like an old watch
left in a drawer, still
with precision.
it is a consultant
for decision, and while
not always perfect,
at least it works with warranty.
even when broken,
it finds the strength
to enumerate in every pert
moment surrounding verve, vigor and oomph.