I can’t understand one
element, like sweaty wool, I was left chafe.
it seems like clumsy
language, to assert right over wrong, most know their actions. I’ll leave
something alone—most obvious to souls—imprinted on hurt castles.
I was nostalgic mansion—over
time in perception, over days confused over joys; most un-exorcised, dressed in
anxieties, before honor, prior to change.
cameras are capturing
science, empirical dungeons, through bondage, yokes, and torments. the flame of
fever, the religion over child, the cuffs over freedom.
iconic power. striking at
a pinata. centuries with primary eyes, focus made cosmic, initially considered
rebels.
cultures. most made
powerful. history, books, literature—energize a given perception, a given ethnicity.
I’ve cared deeply, moving
through feelings, watching how we cherish each other. I sense diligence, a
coppice mind, a sylvan made of woody rules. a soul to her decisions. a woman to
her family. with nightmares etching into a treasure. bottles of oxygen—topaz influence—minerals
made of copper. listening to a recitative, trying higher culture, preferring a
beer and a classic experience; made of beginnings, admiring Tiffany Boone, with
ropes guiding us to freedom. too confusing, it takes death to manifest
existence—the fighting to arrive, we see it in its plurality, our women are
still at struggle. going for years, watching women in power, realizing our
discontent becomes cultural rules, stereotypes, gender expectations, gender
limitations. the wonder becomes the conundrum behind figures such as Hillary
Clinton, Kamala Harris, Angela Bassett—the dear dark pain, the triumph in
parts, those bars seeming imperceptible.
many symbols participate
in worldviews.
the moral apparatus is a
stenographer.
much is sounds, penchants,
pensive irritants. much is fleetingness, chasing joys, ignoring inner spaces,
happiness, the pursuit of clarity. much is us, unlocked, begging for independence,
unfiltered, raw, stumbling over pits.
