it becomes a cedarchest or a long table
while souls are flicking gnats. by cedarchest we mean secrets, by table we mean
consensus, by gnats we mean those trivial things we hold by grudge. a man says
something offensive, another beats his wife, where the former incident is
granted greater riches. a man might argue well, akin to a seasoned lawyer, but
persuasion belongs to reciprocity. that man may possess ethos or sing
well in choir or even befriended by logos; but unsung or discredited
while hunches or gut feelings or a need for a given direction takes center
stage. hives break out. rashes form behind ears. or a man is about talked to
death. (by a palm of red ants, where one can’t move, unless they respond. or
near a nest of wasps, seated unknowingly, devouring a carne asada burrito. such
is existence such is reality we aren’t aware of the closeness.) a ladybug lands
in pudding. a little girl tries to save it. so she places it under running
water. (it was such filth so amoral with its mother guiding it. its compass was
specious while it once looked respectable insomuch as to re-voice its
innocence. no one listened. so it left its quarters. where a soul waited for
utter disgrace.) we segue to normality or openness or ‘things’ so odiferous we
never lay claim to inherent privileges; or such were diminished as seen as
crooked while flesh determines goodness. (a man sat on a seesaw. he carried a
rocket. where he shared it with his screams. a woman had a disease. she met a
fair soul. she never revealed the STD. a grandmother/grandfather senses something
is wreckage. they never ask questions. the daughter suffers needing a heart
operation. moreover, a little boy steals a dollar. he feels grief all day. he
gives it back, where mother says, “I knew you would do the right thing.”) life
is all but nothing. it spins with hornets. while most people are leopards. we
see patterns, they come by naturally, some we ignore our entire lives. but so
edgy so indirect or so cursed—those moods they appear where nothing is taking
place. such silent resentment such a passive rug while they design us to sprawl
prostrate.
