polite/open
exchanges made holy projectiles while communing bravely. rosary beads for a
sullen miracle or a suitcase filled with commentary. she was lit on flame
pushing out mist while seeming undifferentiated. it was easy to admire her. it
was easy to be polite. we struck a pose for photoshop. by woodblock we etched
kindness so sophisticated, so careful, such pouring compassion. or different
abilities in different souls, but we tire of each other. I catered to her, as
one caters to wine racks, in so much as age distinguishes experience. some are
punished for familiarity, both internally anxious, and externally awkward. some
cherish written word, others ignore cooked claims, many feel indifferent. a professor
might cringe, a librarian might tear up, as to hear literature is isolated,
unto itself, such cadence for a few. but communion was aesthetic or filled with
effusion as it poured from city to states. so specific in its chase. it’s
operated partially by intuition. it reasons, floats, as coming where it
pleases, or going as it selects. a person is a church. I was such on guard. it
seems most have a gift. such quarantine such vices while many are seeking
therapeutic friends. I met a person, during my turmoil, I have decided to leave
winds unexamined. I met another is distressed, as we often decide, it seems
inopportune. but delicate gusts or cedar crosses or yoga in a soul roaming
deeper sea trees. some atypical sociality, or spiritual anodyne, while more and
more are asserting their godhood. a trip for humility or combat with humility
or something missed has become a boomerang. nevermore a curse but more a tested
soul or dear visitation. to have won more than she lost in so much it feels
like pains to remember. by affectation while it was measured where it will
hardly come back. to find a person is an anthology or a misunderstood paradox.
