the
company of isolation, dragging my knuckles, so crowded by analyzation. to feel inside,
to see inside, to float, scud, flit, fly inside. I see a bottle, cocoa liqueur,
so wild the denial of self—that furious drill, those furious pits, landing,
fretting goodness, theology trying dearly. the fragrance of pity, those rounds
with souls, the precious reflection of ancestors. so designed to battle,
bicker, burnish some ill-gotten mishap.
but—the
graves are flowered, the gothic is resting, the zinnias are singing; sure zest
for others, a mental mountain, I keep climbing. an altered person, in altered
skin, so many floret responses. taken into circumstances, perception from my
corridor, vestibules with decided doors. (to sit there, negotiating inside,
thrilled to walk, to chance, to deliver myself; or to listen, closely, never a
doubt, passing assessment, pleading the benefit of the doubt for others.) to
sit there, fully alert, looking at myself, with no recourse to another
position. most never realize the perception in self, of self, generated by self—this
is what is perceived. a person walks away from a faux pas, it follows, when
present, the faux pas is alive. a man hits his wife, she never forgets, a
barrier has been shattered. a wife strays, a husband forgives, it never goes to
sleep. many skies ago, many futures churning, from insufferable, to tolerant.
so much zeal for horizons, to parachute a friend to comforts, to adore a friend
with soul-force. or letting go, it gets so hard, it becomes so easy; so crazy
at love, so delicate at arriving, so temperamental with love—so expectant, so
decided, so irregular.
