the insignificant
is significant. I will search inside, to adore outside, with mind-wranglers
haunting paths.
I was aside
myself, a person powerful, I suppose I knew—we commune in essence, season,
resistance.
so occupied
lately, committed to barriers, briers, snakes, insistence, more mistakes. if
hassled—nothing can be done; if loved, genuinely, from a distance, nothing can
be done.
people hurt. they
channel. chameleons hit atmosphere. sore tender webs, treacherous kindness, I misread
an entire culture.
sages are at
spaces, traveling high, swamis are trying to re-veil.
I didn’t not love
her, or desire friendship, or need needlessly; accused by self, analyzed by
self, the danger is in decoding self, motives, believing in innocence.
I wouldn’t give
solace. I would give solace. we might need in one area, what we don’t need in
another area.
so primitive—so unluckily
lucky, such arms, legs, necks reaching—to have died, in sourness, made joyous
upon one gesture.
something will go
its way. we have disrupted silence. such greatness in invisibility—such raw agony
in knowing what we can’t authenticate.
