how
do we act cultural how have I seen sunshine when was I unaware of being black?
we ask a soul its name we listen for an answer as if a name has told us
something. chains clank minds gore themselves or mansions become metaphorical.
a smock for cries a garment for bad breaks a feeling in a second to act
uncordial. hands high those triggers so spatial in a jam. doorknobs take on
meaning, monopolies cause injustice, while we say odd things—to reference time
to ask for penalty to encourage metanoia. some issue I have some realness I endure
when looking at inventoried eyes.
I entered
a coffeeshop, days seem incorrigible but Angel was sipping tea. I looked at a
gentleman, I spiraled a bit, as deciphering what we see. one is secure, be it
false or steady, one has a grip on what’s transpiring. I was four miles over, I
saw selfsame woman, but company was different. she winked I caught a feeling it
seemed strange. of course, I’ve said little, but one might get insinuation.
but
back to blackness as to what it denotes where many have several dictums. some
database some carnival while it feels like sinning. are we first color over humanness
or humanness over color, or by whom is color made evident – self or another
person? it might be both, as aware of sensitivities, where one discusses your
response. tables turn in terror as tried in tyranny such tragic ways we view
each other. some are like hydrants, either beauty, venom, or both—at moonshine
such undertones with people trying love over color differences. what makes one
more feasible than another? to look at taxis or ride the lines or see so many
fighting but unbeknownst to their fight.
such
a ringing door so many vestibules I walk rooms filled with ghosts—those takes
on life our ceremony made digital our souls rummaging trashbins. a doorbell
awakens a skylight is precarious a binocular entered another’s quarters. so
many safeguards. I must confess: if taking life on its actualities, a man or
woman might lose sanity. so we debate pains we sense through a filter we
analyze the fibers. but back to blackness, or even whiteness, do we have raw,
hardcore definitions?
some utopia for some. we see it and
grow weary. we need to know if this person is crazy. but further left, one is
too pessimistic, too blunt, too philosophical, where reality is bending, it
seems sharp, or too much acid, while pain churns or minds scream, if but I never
met this person!
