mercury, you saucy bastard.
mercury and I are friends again. we’ve buried another bloodied hatchet, rank with the death of yesterday’s order. encrusted with the spoils of another silent war. times will arise when we must bow to the might of otherworldly tempers, to the foxing of forces insistent on out-foxing.
it all happened so fast, the dissolving, bending, breaking me—try to keep up, child, you know I cannot wait.
so I took my licks like I take my coffee, unadulterated and strong. I folded to a wiser man, the street smart king of wicked games. white flag, you saucy bastard.
the cleverest move I had up these too-stretched sleeves was inward, to a place of wait. home base. safety. fled. we’re not weak in these moments, as cutting loses can free hearts of buried bruises; and time away from a battle field can restore shards of hope—to be reinserted in the privacy of home. stay low, sweet warrior.
because after the reconnaissance I emerged the humbled one, and my foe took note and put down his sword. the hard work of wisdom-bestowing finally done.
artwork: street art news
—this post was grown on the gram.