Seeing Measures

I imagine dialogues, as warm as pudding, as vexed as secrets; to speak while furtive, the stealth of men, camouflaged in overt statements. We challenge life, our wings spread, filled with trembling and turbulence; while charged with love, our attitudes cold, featured in gesticulations; as practiced in mirrors, that perfect smile, stressed by various intakes; that vital cue, as streaming faces, where it’s often with purpose. I imagine that place, the solemnity of men, where a tear takes center stage; to feel so young, experiencing nuance—our inner chambers trembling. We covet images—even perfect portrayals, whelmed by our inner cities; to want this life, that sacred citadel, unaware of troubles. I find us in ritual—awakened and restless, chiming through hints of distance; as structured in doubts, that thickness of skin, to schedule a person’s mishaps. This is more than pudding, while knitted in features—that point of nonresistance; to feel so human, as to clutch this cadence, while reaching for a crib. We’re crocheted in fears, expressing emotionality—where focused are the riches of life. I imagine stencils, this tracing of lines, to stumble upon perfection; this felt disjunct, as to examine such pressure, while thoughts desire that feeling: as ever reaching; our palms but instruments; our reality a glitch in time. Our years have mourned—as partly through nature, as partly through trials; as seen in literature, such human tragedy, while one mimics something trite; as to soothe wounds, as to expect clearance, while disgruntle with repetition; where silence is harassed, while ideas are casted, to the disturbance of souls; but I imagine love, as difficult and trying, while receptive and keen; this wistful plateau, this thoughtful veranda—our measures the taunts of onlookers.