a requested word - poem

bum·fuz·zle : to confuse

There’s a little riot that I hold
In a pocket, sore and cold
A mouth that yells, caresses
Songs of old
My mother’s lyrical poem
All frizzled thoughts and parades
Of fraught, little inklings of souls.

I find in threads, in spreading
Of sold,
a melancholy mode.
Maze of mashed words
And pulls of birds’
Unfinished nests.

I find it in those,
That cannot close,
Nor speak a word of an imaginable tongue,
Just breaths full of lungs.

A quiet, comfortable confusion.