I
often hesitate in order to remember while separating self from anger:
those
cubic eyes those telic palms those omens we ignore; as curious humans or
fragile spirits at something incredible;
to adore you as flying to wingspan
our dilemma or simply to reach beyond our turmoil.
This horrid situation but
days are gentle where heaviness comes to pass; unless fixated at thoughts
concerning behaviors—to imagine treating a world like dung; but a klutz depending
upon stupidity while I hate in order to retrieve forgiveness; (such treachery
or vice to afflict a soul where that person must apologize for dying; such
acidic love this place mother knew while rehab says, It wasn’t you).
So, a treason-man for breaking freedom while nothing has changed; or a black
man, losing his space, where one should know how to behave; a bit inflammatory
where the family is four races but we never speak to those realities; to kayak
a storm to feel deeper resentments or to hold so much in it unzips the soul; such
coal simmering such malice shimmering while a daughter learns those behaviors;
as taught firsthand even embedded over years while dishonesty is seen as necessary;
our wells with poison our courts as irrelevant and our pride but shattered ego;
indeed, such drifts or alarms such gifts or charms where we soon reap our
behaviors.
I
can’t fathom ghosts as not present where so much has been done to destroy
cleanliness.
Those
topaz prayers or this rich pressure attempting, but alone, to unveil identity. Such
fossils or culture while we look different than everyone else; those cozen
comforts this uneasiness where many have switched deliberately; our lying birth-certificates
those lying eyes or such deceptive taxonomies; while partly true but whom do I see
in that mirror of influences; such truths as I must ask a delicate question, Who
but refers to this beautiful Swan?
If I utter
love to an unidentified creature: Whom receives this love?
I harp upon something
intricate this need to identify internally—else, but a fool accepts anything;
this carefree atmosphere this lazy identification but we must prepare our
children for the real, rough, as estranged world.
If one is uneasy or ambivalent
this is understood; but one should have a solid foundation not merely an
assortment where—We believe in something comfortable.
It
angers our blindness—We do not wish to explore it—But what takes place in
something unfeeling; as not realizing one’s irrationality or not concerned with
transference or better a bit anti-inclusiveness; where one has presumed entry,
in a world denying entry, where more respect is given to one aligning identity
with their unrealized reality.
