I
sail by currents so abandoned or alone or so close to feel discomfort; by
island or sanctuary to come to a desolate room; if but frantic but controlled
if but to reveal uneasiness: a bounce on good days such variance come sadness
or beautiful melancholy. to love or die as consumed beings while so
vulnerable it’s hard to be receptive. by flame or baked socially such a stress
for meraki. a man with himself or a song unsung or re-recorded while lacking
velocity. such salient evidence such disappointing years as sudden into a new
life; if silence than deaths if pieces we glue ourselves together. so skeptic
of you so infused by absence while doors endure collisions—those skies needing
heaven those eyes so impressionable or so conflicted; at lemur poses or
orangutan composure while a gorilla might just watch. our camera so precise our
inquiry so imperfect where it seems one must exist; to live by shades or
intrinsic truths while lovers assert axioms or maxims or a certain certitude—as
life is absolute, it’s too complicated, two enjoy while growing into realities.
certain vices or selected endearments so fused so familiar while nothing is of
more value; or split emotion, never close to neither, while disjointed if it
dissolves. a pair of marigolds while
watered or
pruned where comfort is the woman’s presence. (I am confused, especially,
without counseling, (how dysfunction breeds pure functionality?) but amazing
things take place, therapy unleashes uncertainties, where it might reinforce
some core truths.) if to vanish some nights if to approach a strange woman if
but a man lost everything just an hour ago. it seems
so difficult,
while it happens so quickly, for a world inside a world is dying from rain.
into dewdrops those eyes where we discern different calibers. it’s not so much
as it happens. it’s not so much it’s irreligious. it just becomes something
with little attachment: upon dreamwood or firebrand or isolation.
