the world is saffron, flowers are
steps, staircases are metaphors. an epistemic man, a dream or nightmare,
something initiated by mother. most don’t know mother. mother can’t think like
mother. most are appalled by certain behaviors. we might omit pain as a dormant
factor, we might assert moral complex. to know by inheritance, by anguish, it
could’ve been different. a house is made a home. “what we do is normal. those
other people haven’t a clue.” odors, cards, dominoes, blues, jazz, tables,
liquor, situational harps, saxophones, gator skin, hats, laughter, pain, as
dealt on terms of acceptance and anger. some contradiction. an ageless,
nameless tree. or vomit at 4 a.m. louder noises. it seems casual. or too many
crowded in a smaller room. wafting scents. attractive scorpions. we don’t
understand a woman meant to survive. unguarded romance in a light there afar
where one is playing drums or flute or a poolhall piano. wires cross—made to
cherish—a bit lazy with respect. some type issue—it must be all women—a soul
finds a mirror mocking him. by dearer needs, to control environment, most of us
are narcissistic: troubled by disorder, or functional imps, or striving to
break chains … enjoined to father, repeating havoc tides, where father is at seas.
or mothers teaching daughters, where mediocre care is offensive: “I must give
what I’ve earned before she falls prostrate.”
most are chameleons, changing
colors, (one will force respect here, while other spaces die a slow, grim
depreciation).
our answers are too fluid to feel
permanent. they vacillate from person to person—their situational—but we’re
thankful to have them.
we have removed a monopoly on
poetry—most are writing prose—but we box it at its corners.
scholars have a time in trying to
address a society where many dismiss literature. a small group plagues
libraries, or keeps with times, or tries to move beyond anger. we must look
stuffy, or hidden, while listening to self—bests listening to others, while we
nod gracefully. a person runs a trying risk: to seem smart becoming resisted—to
hide smarts feeling resentful—or to select where smarts will appear, as needed,
nothing more. we have a time with each other. assessing, dismissing, or
concerned another thought of it first. do we rest? are we knotted? are we
disposed to fight each other? to think more or to dislike another person or to
commiserate over one nobody quite knows.
when can one say, “I know such and
such?”
can we depend on knowledge?
one is cold, most have this
mechanism, another is defensive love. are we glasslike? in truth, authors are
asking self these questions. if one is brilliant, shares it with no one, is he
happy? a silhouette flickers, a striking woman appears, most marvel. joy seems
dependent on others. not joy at home busying oneself, or meditating. rather,
social, spirit-human joy.
one becomes too independent, too
self-possessed, this is a problem.
to be in self what is despised makes
it hard to listen to a person.
