There’s
something liquid
There’s
something profound
There
is too a problem.
I
can’t imagine so much. I must keep reality. But something is weaning.
I
met her years ago—into a void—while sharing principles; this village of behaviors,
those childhood curses, or voices embedded into trauma; as miracle adults
placed in power while functioning in margins; to look at faces or redeem
normality or to have more too much; this atypical excellence at windows weeping
while no one is quite clear; to drop and grip guts to give it to surrendering
while nothing inside has mirrors.
It becomes more changes
as we adapt to people or felt as inept; peering through shadows realizing the
best in others while also the worse.
Something
lives in cages with required keys while harassing neighbors; or something is
beautiful disguised in countenance where reality is feelings; our politeness so
adequate, our dalliances so orderly, our chaos gripping our guts; if but
science for normality this awkward undertone while we become something a few
appreciate; as using to feel used, or aching to feel passion, so divorced from
core elements.
Love
was science while a genius to realize science missed links. Love was gifted
where Love was challenged while many weren’t paying attention. Love lost it and
Love flew while many were absent. Love has returned, but Love is invisible,
therefore, Love is angry.
I have missed Love as not
an innuendo but more a familiar warrior: those pressed nectarines, or tapioca
pudding, or days at a few thoughts.
What
happens to invisibility? What occurs when others see us? Is this good or bad?
I would like sensories or
accurate assessment but am I ready? Such moving intimacy, such deeper
vulnerability, such uncaged openness.
I presume this is
universal, but what have we asked for, in our affairs?
We
met years ago, a true aggravator, while I make discernment to corner meanings. But
if one shows patterns, even in chaos, do those patterns determine order? We call
it chaotic order, an oxymoron, but, nonetheless, an actual reality.
We
dine on something familiar. But unlikely to insist upon fences—while behavior
becomes its catalyst: such as shifts, or low-pressure tillage, while our minds
observe our histories.
