I’m both
winning and losing understanding.
…to
ache our cultural climate or to partake of our zeitgeist while eating tarmac;
if but to disavow such behavior if only a one-to-one correlation—if only the
sound of birds; to adore in you this element weak for me where days seem to run
faster; our aging realities our tipsy love-sessions or this desire to need more
of you; but a needy man in a needy world while most are concrete façades…but I taste
lavender I ponder rosaries I see the significance of religiosity; (our battle
for clarity our desire for one or two rules or if maybe one might see our
perfection)….
it was years dependent it was hours
independent or it was angst to meet you. it
wasn’t difficult, you have seen more, while little to a man showing resistance;
for so many wiggle or so many play where a fool is hoping for something
romantic; to watch while watched, to deviate while perceived, where it doesn’t
quite register; if but to feed those gardens if but to prune dysfunction while
most are gaining patience; this wilder project this fueling flame as autonomy
is a joke or deliberate elbows are reality; while to dislike strength as to
label it an aberration while our ambiance induced a hostile environment; our
cages freezing our personal assessment by new findings or our anger seeming it
lives independently; a shift in mid-sentence, a pool stirring while laughter is
held temperate; indeed, our interests our understanding where Little Suzie just
screamed-out an epithet and shattered a vase.
the issue is
relevant. the problem belongs to perception; but the tolerance we show belongs
to frustration. absence is a
fond enemy. it wiggles through conceptions. the secret is non-engagement,
right? yeah, that works! I awaken to
see dust trails; the village is quiet; it took some years; our lifetime
warriors, both men and women, where enlightenment is much. I can’t win there; I might angle here; but it
becomes an erased picture of our intentions; a bit to babbling, right? or a bit
to functionality—where one realizes he didn’t win that session. indeed, something is pinching
through, something deceptive where it hurts but he misses it; such crazed science or this one so angry, for
something said in haste cut deeper.
yes. more anguish.
yes. more pain. but it’s written— never
do that or wiggle backwards for once it blossoms—nature runs its course. while to lose was to gain, at least some
alone time, if but to rethink this initial mirage. as so angry so discontent—where
we ask—does an apology work? indeed. it must be damn incriminating!
