can’t erase
internality
—it’s melodramas
—we just adjust.
the chorus is selfish,
absorbed in
itself, many are
sacrificing.
others enjoy until pained,
sweet channels
sparking joy. I
imagine a door in women
an ocean palmed at its shore. maybe a sea elephant, swarming our minds, amazed
by what we endure.
to realign ourselves,
to renegotiate our totems, to place one person at its apex. like stray animals,
eating by chance, people acquire many strange habits.
myself included.
myself observant. myself missing the points.
I imagine a mayfly
landing in mud,
stifled by odors;
the expectancy short,
color irrelevant, it
might feel time running
out.
by verse or
freedom those vines made into nectar those feelings made inappropriate.
an unsung person
sits on glass watching strangers;
an untouched
person sits in mentals rehearsing scenes, oblivious to its art.
many of swell
repute keep a local
distance—they operate
in
frequencies, they
become fire we see.
we’ve no clue to
sacrifice, logistics, inner museums. the fire we make, trying to remain
attached, it seems a rewarding responsibility:
to have closure,
to make a decent
connection, to
enjoy an astrological
friend. some chart
we might absorb or
ignore finding our
way to excluding
threats. eating
sociality, cleaving to sweeter skies, carrying a universal agenda.
