I
walk silence, clenching its guts, while listening to encounters: it’s intricate
this way, while afflicted such a way, where a person determines how we must
respond: Pain talks that way; Pain delegates our behaviors; where someone too
close proves a need for division. I
must confess something: It exhilarates through trauma, this feeling like one
has existence: while something is normal, where confliction manifests
breakthroughs, if one is balanced fire: this tricky element, by controlled
chaos, where mother was both intolerant and unstable: while one is intentional,
tugging at something vulnerable, advertising a need for strength: our lakes
muddy, our aches bloody, our mates gutty: to watch closely, to sing with Rain, so
claustrophobic, so forced and pushed into public dynamite: our green
expectations, our childlike devil-may-cares, where reality has a special
insistence: those kind souls, expecting Eternity, sharing, relaxing, and
leading by pure example: paragons of effective suffering, soon mandated, even
mental yogis: as sung an infant, looking at mother, but forced to nurture
artificially: this dearer design, this dreary draft, our death-zone desires:
traveling to loosen, gathered in excess, confused by indicative behaviors: our
classical responses, where every action is premeasured, and anger is
predetermined: so excused to perish, so invited to play soccer, while everyone
is feeling guilty: our crush on a professor, our lusts for a passerby, but
reasons to feel awkward: our using to feel used, our needs for dependence,
while raising our children as independent, capable agents: so fierce at moments,
reflecting over ice, stirring our last remnants: where normal fixes, abnormal
digs deeper, prior to clearing those last frustrations: so sensed in this life,
where keen eyes see something familiar, while one responds based in
unrealities: our Fiona’s as Shameless, our minds as blameful, our hearts
a slice of intelligence: distressed or disturbed, alienation or embrace, while
grudges are sacred these days: to insist upon resistance, as shimmering like
Pain, while something appears apropos: our interior normalities, our interior
sentences, our foreign and slippery behavior: to inflict for meaning, where
meaning is exhausted, while one struggles to justify a course of behaviors:
such petals and Rain, such soil and sediments, or algae and plankton: at deeper
Pain, this vessel of torn alibis, where a mother persists despite a Judge’s
decision: as hating a person’s guts, while wrestling to outwit mirrors, where
reality points to something quite individualistic: albeit, a villain, a man of
too many mistakes: We don’t imagine packaged insanity, or forced inclusion:
those ruby red sins, those heated forks, or this need to negotiate at every
turn.
We
talk silence, walking her screams, holding to adolescent perspectives: Our
world is good; Our world is bad; Our world is a melding of Realities: where
Time is sluggish, or Time is uneasy, or Time has slipped into oblivion: at
recurrent thoughts, held for a decade running, searching for sunlight’s breath:
heavy determination, requiring skill, diligence, and application: hearing
sore-spots, listening to wailings, at emotional stitching: forced to combat
humanity, while needing to adore humanity, where we sense variations: but Judge
no man, in a society demanding judgments, even unto distinguishing our
survival: at meadows whispering, at poetry listening, at mother an ambivalent creature:
coerced to endure, rehearsed to survive, while watching as something melts
away: our Kingdom Aches, our Kingdom Hearts, while we determine our language:
to need the best in you, to receive a hunch in you, while a son is streaming
and stressing and sore and sour: running into horizons, laughing near a
sunflower, or treading miles through reflection: it seems evident, this telling
cliché: We learn by paying attention, for Existence rarely speaks plainly: as
curious devices, or systematic diggers, ruined, but aloft, where one designates
heart as a caring, kind, and compassionate purpose.
