I
spin suspended in webs. I trek mental pavement. I believe against disbelief. so many at doors many more knocking an
entrance is closing.
moods as in skies while it falls at
leisure.
we know cliches. we know our limits.
we push beyond tolerance. such
gobbledygook such palms faced up such nails in coffins.
it has drained. I know what people
feel. we hear it at times. “I can’t give more. I have run out of patience. The
end has come.” such cold winds assumed
as spirits where essence seems inflexible. by its underbelly, like
bullfighters, up against a gila monster.
“Days are interchangeable, they change each other, they look similar.” life is indefinable as we chase
definitions, such assurance in convictions.
I spin suspended in webs, reanalyzed,
trying to forget last assessments. we fail to assert it, we teeter between
facts, we know ourselves – such as we exist a bit selfishly. much is unsaid as I light a cigar or look
at something beautiful deadly. while it passes such inclination, I remember capacity.
such a word, as in measurement, we never fully confront walls – anger will pass
by!
there is a cycle between what we
possess versus what we need to add.
I trek mental pavement, looking at
murals, wondering has life tattooed its mirage. to be exact, have I decided
against facts, in honor of condoning alienation?
I have a better question, concerning
vagueness, can a person love more than two intimately? we know its answer, it
breaks gravel, we know its answer is yes. we are perpendicular/linear
creatures. we possess capacity. we are able to deceive our
nature/essence.
I was given a diary. it belonged to
mother. I saw her complexity. by love of one cherished we hold tightly, where
pain is brought on what we feel to need. a little complicated. a grand canyon.
a raven’s darkness, a phoenix fire.
I spin suspended in webs as
listening to experience as it fights against ideals. so much to people, a lake
of jewels, unpainted cathedrals. so close in debt, such between buildings, with
rain toppling hats. or craving excellence, feeling imperfect, so much attached
to conscienceness.
(I
have a problem.) I try to believe, as against disbelief, but mud shadows
perception. dryness touches savannah, moisture touches gas, raw metal touches
machinery. I want to hear. I need less in me. where thoughts are clouded. such
nebulous debates. if to unrelate behavior. while nothing quite dislodges
discomfort. beginners have fun, they never ask questions, one aged has seen too
much. aside a sunbird, sweltering from heat, determined to unsee something
unsaid or renegotiate an inconsistency. such smiles in fomentation. it laughs
like healthy. its purpose is chaos. we speak to stronger, or weaker, while it
seems better to borrow.
I spin suspended in webs. I trek
mental pavement. I believe against disbelief.
