I’ve
been sailing for months, observant of salience/deepness, things we excuse.
rezipped inside, arguing with memories, rationalizing, addressed a certain way:
more sullen/somber, more mediated, absorbing what has befallen spirit. people
think about indemnity, they feel pride in their fortress, any unsteadiness
shatters self-reflection. I sit, looking at twenty-three-years, making a tarty
decision. must live to die, must walk to stumble, must crawl to trek. I was
captured a tale, wondering about eyes, how they glitter, shimmer, talk, abide,
laugh. I was with desire to have more, to toil, to mate, to play clarinet to
kiss. many stronger bonds, notwithstanding, our bonds, to presume in another
beauty they’ve not claimed. at a serious war, projecting on to another, running
from an arid mirror. preaching aside: I loved what I couldn’t keep. I perished
early in life. geometry has failed its science. we debate that claim, he must
have the formula incorrect, he must have done something wrong. I believe one
must do it right, in order to say, it doesn’t work, in order to veto the
enterprise.
toxicity
seeps in, snakes are moving, venom drips from every sentence. I resent one for
behavior. they resent me for knowing. we hold to feelings in error.
I
was low for three days. mind-type lowliness. to hear it is to know it’s
chemical.
social
hair-fractures, heirs of genetics, personality is part original—I inherit you,
my first observer, I nurse on your anxieties. more forward, more deafened,
chronological distressors. a temple of thieves, a rough rehearsal, (we ask that
you love in spite of our quirks).
I
can’t analyze without reflecting, mirrors enforced on you, point back at me—some
mirage, some clown, where it might be some characteristic of certain types—like
a genius in darkness, the melody of the shadow, the horror of skies. softer, or
harsher, as in penalties—so much silent screaming; bodies blemished, motives
examined, reality exposed—hassling, gathering, making tools.
sore
in art, arranged to suffer, sweet mincing anguish.
the
silence of loudness. the battle of the reflecting soul. needing deepness,
unsettled by salience, roaming city blocks. the fire of a man, the flame of a
woman, attraction becomes familiar comforts, art rules, reborn, made stronger—fleeing
the unbridled night.
for
me, me personally, I fret life knocks sentimentality into some remote area; the
skies are filled with trees, earth is drowning from water, any private sanctuary
is trespassed. to adore is to forget—the seismic patterns, inevitability, I must
lie to myself in order to enjoy company. a dear pathology. how many will
confess it? life puts us in places—of self-deceit, expectation, something
unsteady serves as a concrete foundation—then we grow disappointed. I might
cherish disappointment, aside for reclusiveness, void of fullness.
