I
have lived under cement, embraced or insufficient or lingering—The trek of
screams; a person listening where doors would open while wandering
over deliberateness. Is it chilly in there: Is it torn when fragile—Those
cults or regularities where souls are mandated? I can’t please our canines
or avenge our child-moods or better, I can’t make us relax. While unwashed or
too clean or raking flesh or wiggling through seams—this unfair disparateness
or listening to hear violence where it was never as it projected; our
jumping-jacks our seesaws or those optic sandcastles; if to peer too closely, I
guarantee a few flaws, while disenchant does not mean uninvolved: but souls
running into villages where children are dancing by fire; but a man trying
inclusivity, this hard target, where exclusivity seems such security; but days
are malicious or a person such degrees or systematic, pernicious—if but
anything better than that man. It dreams about freedoms, of how to manage
irony, at one so gifted—I wander! Such sweet elegies such raw terrain
while a man might be something inordinate; this battle with sawdust, or
buildings built upon straw, or truth to shore—A strong woman, is a challenged
woman! to wander
around you as humble lions or so negative an eruption makes spirit—to live in a
sentence or to die in letters where great joy was protected; as harvested
hearts or irregular breathing while trying out a bit of desperation; so
treasured to exist while to have existence, where thoughts are tender but
critical; those imbalanced feelings or days at mind-works so accustomed to
letting go; but dearest frustration where words are seductive while they demand
what they usher forth. I
try to retreat (but auras are concrete). I try to hide but magnets repel. Such distant
memories as chaotic, comforting memories entailed in privilege, pride, or
peril; our watchers welding telescopes or patience pillaging responsibility; to
utter something different, a man must be bonkers—but sameness with nuance is
sheer mastery.
