we exaggerate love
or fail at love or beg for love. one drives, another is steering, both are
balanced.
the skies are
pink, orange, fire, burgundy.
I tried to ignore
rain falling, dripping, buckets around the apartment.
I see a cat. she
dwells beneath the bed. she comes out to eat.
walls make noise.
the building is out the early 1900’s. roaches eat roach spray. daddy long legs
hover in corners. floorboards play viola. tables are rusty. the ceiling has
brown water spots. kids ignore what they don’t see. it’s shocking how in retrospect,
after becoming evolved, unveils the travesties one smiled through.
we started with
love, this entity, this ventriloquist. maybe a word covering a host of
attributes. maybe a deep feeling remaining inexplicable. some arc in a play,
some mental screen, some inaudible alphabet. maybe one is dying as opening as
understanding. one becomes communion, lives dynasty, gives birth to
confirmation.
skies seem
intricate. art is taking place in atmosphere. most look for a horizon.
a man wakes up at
5 every morning. freshens up. grabs a cup of coffee. watches the skies.
ignoring it is
troublesome. it moved me. it’s eclectic distancing.
there will be ants
in the deserts. wiggling. gnawing. by far we understand.
the cat
disappeared. someone opened the door. mother was angry. I saw white smoke.
