Our
delicate weather, this sunshine state, its moody contradiction: our aces and
kings, our tender memories, our neuronic harbingers: this kingdom by silence,
this kingdom by treacheries, plus, this resilience to relocate honesties: our
cringing wilderness, this lady in black, our talkative habits. This aromatic coffee, this banana muffin,
this aloof newspaper: our casual eyes, at casual cries, seated in this roomy
city: our deceptive magazines, while never such beauty, to arise a feeling forming distrust: this elegant statue, this picturesque waterfall, and that
nearby vestibule: our memory’s museum, our sketchy tablets, or this bundle of
coins: as laundry lingers, as laziness centers, while pungent odors are bombarded
by Febreze. We shared a steak, this
reasonable course, attempting this diet: our burgers and fries, our sausage and
eggs, our guilt and determination: this land of obesities, our treasured
placation, and this well of milk and money.
Our nightly news, our blues and rhythms, our milk and cakes: this dearth
of calcium, this effort to attend our famine, our days at existence: this
statuesque moon, this extravagant sun, our stars silent by night-sighs: this
morning’s grasshopper, this litter of kitties, that diligent and passive
mother. Our evenings cleaning, our
restrooms filthy, as realizing it always demands attention: this lot of humans,
this wood-designed-floor, or this shaggy carpet: our kitchen dishes, our dinner
inventions, while tossing this old bag of Hamburger Helper: indeed, with life,
our dusty windowpanes, our dusky emotions.
I write of aphorisms, but rarely do I gripe, while acidic oceans rage in
this gut: this sea-dahlia, this cliff bumble-bee, this anxious tiger: as pacing
our consciences, while swiping figs, while pushing intuition: that sudden roar,
those myriad faces, our dreams confounded by emotions: as unresolved, this
moment in time, while years are invested in particular fantasies: this inner
warzone, this need to careful our thoughts, or this vulnerable disposition: as
birds sing, about this simple life, while facing this complex hawk. I gaze upon dressers: at this container of
butter, this tube of Gold Bound, and this plethora of individual items: our New
Year’s solution, this Healing Softness, those pair of weights: plus, this
brilliant irony, as if life wasn’t demanding, to censor with life this
domesticated zeal: those high buttons, this inverted tension, our bodies
reacting with eczema: those dear apples, this topical syrup, or more this
hankering for walnut breads: as souls breathing, this dusty river, listening as
our souls growl: our moody features, this quick solution, or our
disappointments.
Wednesday, May 23, 2018
Simple Complex Realities
Choosing Symbols
To speak of spirit is speculation, albeit, a symbol, filled with meaning and designation. In my hunger for the symbol, in my thirst for ...
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By language we speak to audibility and coherence. To compose to feel understood, in spite of language applied. A person spends years misunde...
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It rarely falls as it should. In forcing syntax, one dies. So precedented; one dream those days, and nerves were fretting. Affected by l...