I
spark a cigarette or drift into ritual while articulate concerning trust. the
pigeons are up the doves are cooing where raccoons are tiptoeing. I refuse you
or you analyze me it’s difficult to explore. it arises, a man sees something,
those walls or skies embedded in his psyche. lines try to blur, it becomes a
message, while more so for one seeing murk in others: that nonchalant air, or
not invested in intimacy, where someone close behaves with those patterns. but
life to phantoms as never escaping where pain is resonant one’s entire journey.
so simplistic if but to tap in while desiring something favorable. our sacred
behavioral assertion where another is cognizant while sweetness tastes sour. an
opinionated man a reclusive soul while view-point out there it’s always
clearer. as never a mistake where it’s always intentional while one must behave
as manipulated. (I knew a woman. I watched her for twenty-eight years.
therefore, I have a go-to personality. it permits for disturbances. it assesses
then dismisses. it’s not pleasant with intimacies while nonetheless aggravation
is intimate.) what do we desire? better. are two equipped to be normal? in such
a way that both parties are comfortable. it seems simple on both ends. where
one desires compliance, another, desires something straightforward. but it has
gone too far. we hassle over being controlled. it’s no longer a cordial
exercise. where there is animosity. while such dictates interaction. at some
point we accept our natures. in spite of something vague. where more clouds
seem comfortable. (I would listen back when. to hear something
anti-reasonability. while sensing a hint of intolerance. one desires woven
pebbles or full acceptance but one keeps pricking, jabbing, or offsetting
others. it becomes its inability, as seeing one spectrum, else, false
dichotomies. but what for the poet? to see a pattern and grow defensive. to
arrive at a conclusion.) our islands raging our exotic fruits as sewn where anything
like such-and-such is rebuked. but healing is confrontational. the poet is
being childish. where it's his responsibility to adjust.
