ambivalence
is natural. its remedy is intricate. the community is fraught by personalities.
one might be cordial, another indifferent, others, looking, prowling, vying for
internal custodies.
I
walk a wire. I tread a fence. reality seems plural. deep dark blues, richer
darkness, the enlightened seem abstruse, difficult, searching for entrance,
announcing something difficult.
naivety
isn’t suitable. it has a domain. if to see life, our activities, isn’t as if,
to gain clarity, clearance, but vigilance.
I
trek a desert. no one hears. to hear is to locate some place inside. it gets
old—we keep screaming—it gets tiring—we keep insisting. it changes an inch,
after decades, generations take
torches.
ambivalence
is natural. permanence is unnatural. but ambivalence is permanent.
many
will feel her. many will hold her hand. not many will master her—bringing her
into favor.
I
trod wilderness, framed in anguish, a core with peace, a reality fraught by
ambivalence: we mimic, we become transcultural, we become global—there lives
ambivalence.
something
is uneasy—some catastrophe we endorse, asserting noncolor isn’t feeling
ambivalence. in a competitive culture, ambivalence is natural, I assert, many
realities are similar.
this
wouldn’t be published, not in a magazine, we don’t care much for ambivalence,
albeit, it’s natural.
