…it’s
an unusual space, or conscious air, or attempting to re-dream: thereto, this
private reality, or analysis concerning havoc, or stress evolving into
heaviness: as dreamt to expel, this estuary of cries, where thoughts attempt to
outwit circumstances: our warriors at wraths, our lawyers at documents, our
maestros at orchestras: this thin umbrella, filled with pinholes, as acidic
rain trickles across our knuckles: such ambivalent designs, or sky-haven
disappointments, or dispositions that belie inner anxieties: that garden of
fish, those few hummingbirds, or an excited host: as souls running, if but for
closure, to realize brains are opening: this velvet resistance, this inner
persistence, or this need to begin a reluctant project: to witness formation,
while becoming intrigued, to arise hours into such journeys…. …while nibbling fruit, I noticed a gnat; I
ignored that gnat: as washing palms, our inner cups, to examine closely this
growing hypocrisy: such feudal fruits, such dynamic resilience, or driving
daily to win: at hard-won practices, effected by practicality, or anxious to
draw water: this radiant damsel, at father’s well, and chosen for marriage:
moreover, our deep decisions, at war with habits, where personality is
difficult to revamp: those private disgusts, those repeated practices, or
wonder to why we can’t refrain: wherewith, are scars, and pervious charms,
while souls churn over threshing-boards….
I
remember travesties, existential whales, and metaphysical giants: this wealth
of habits, this lack of resistance, this flowing tragedy:
…as
born with ghosts, listening closely, but hearing little: this subtle nuance,
those required particles, or foreign filters….
…we
rejoice softly, while palming our ceilings, while creating our images: this
phantom surprise, this glowing indifference, or sudden upon humility:
attempting to rekindle, or attempting to re-bundle, where we sense a certain
disconnection: our wires floating, our dreams haywire, our valves negotiating:
this fleeing feeling, where self outruns thoughts, where mirrors remind us of
our habits….
I
revisit gnats, I write about things, I
sense this relation: our faculties excusing, otherwise fleetingness, or,
thitherto, this alienated behavior: our bodies moving, our minds ejecting, or
two at sync distressing our societies: as casual realities, or manual
philosophies, or growling habits: at prowling feelings, or academic emotions,
where spirit glistens in turmoil: our frisky lives, our inner strife, or caricatures
mocking our morning dew: this rule for love, this slight variance, or that
paradigm for deviation: as pulled souls, or clinging insistence, or abandoned
to ploys.
…our
mind-felt miracles, our needed protein, or that tablespoon of Folgers: as living
souls, hanging by shadows, but alive those seconds: that windowpane witness,
this slight retaliation, while sensing something needs alignment: those running
passions, this need for desire, or playful banter: our jesting abilities, our
accidental involvements, or thrust into this world of ethics: this deep rivulet, this raid upon sentiments, or this
carry-along mirror: those bags of luggage, that neat briefcase, or that torrid
memoire—where life is debauch, this corrupt feeling, at wonder concerning such discipline:
at miles to justice, at inner funerals, at weeping passions….
