it starts off
slowly, rills into spirit, reflection from its point of view—aging quickly,
resounding sentiments, freckles, puberty, positions as opinions. some stick!
the best for
another, caught in a net, self-analyses become unfiltered. nails—thumbtacks!
some gateway, some
segue, into disliking parts of self; a freedom path to insecurities, self-conscious
participation, masks seem apropos. left unseen.
I winnow my
clouds. I unclutter my understanding. it takes time—to stop seeing those ships.
the mind holds
crafts, pottery, patterns; carnations are about—the fields, the healings, years
associated with dislikes—self as paraded, everyone sees—the question seems,
what are we seeing?
I can’t remember
my first critique. they keep coming. the snowball is too large—the seas are
chambers—the elephants learn to be modest.
the ocean is a
chimney. are we appointing critics?
by a ruby, aside a
pearl, bringing insides into focus—replacing a feeling, re-filming stages, coming
to conclusions;
if it were easy, if
it were agreeable, much might come out of kindness.
