is it jamais vu
the lighthouse inside coming closer to studying your face? is it solipsism so
harmful where I only know my existence? your mind on wires, shaking like diesel
at terminals inside. lemons for breakfast, wilder sex at lunch, Sunday dinner
eggs. to have connection to be nonchalant, sex has become passing fruit. pears
for snacks, a small salad, many are concerned with weight gain. so rare we turn
left. so pure in dislocation. I will assess as you assess me. into stoicism,
alienated by nihilism, asking if people go so deep? those coffee creamer eyes,
such flesh, to imagine evolution made her thighs. in cold weather, gunning to
you, life is made warm. our complication. by tender stream, next to a dying creek.
to have known you, each predilection, to have lost you. so many gems, rubies,
rubescent diamonds. too many words, as they bubble, I am inspired by you. so
many pushes, so many papers, so many notes—like books aspired to sin, winning
made injustice, our brevity a lifetime.
déjàvu at times. no recollection at times. transference at times. most
are similar, as connected experiences, habits are revolutionized. thus,
something unique, something ripe, I winnow myself. I see more in light than darkness, dimness
has cocooned clarity. discernment wanes, like deeper possession, when one can’t
envision—just bodies in rotation just longing and gripping, with want to exist
again. by fleetingness, we are everything, one fugitive dream. as it is had it is lost it might
return. it will travel, others will know its compass, others will scream its
name. a man must be mature. he mustn’t overanalyze facts, he must learn to
appreciate nuances.
