that vague goodbye, a woman’s wintery
eyes, never so cold the chill. that conversation, the psychic revelation, the
tyranny of clarities, screaming at the Witness. if more an exhaustion, a mute-point,
we learn to release it. more ambiguity than facts, immortal questions, fighting
over, and for, happiness. shivering over literature, suffering social-internal
crucifixions, our movement influenced by colonization—the burden of the beasts,
the pinwheel in morals, the chief excellence becomes perfection.
it was fabulous for sophistication,
to determine criteria, to become uncertain, causing recrimination. pain comes
with passion, instruments, observation. days carry guilt, ignored and chastised,
rising, nonetheless. to see a soul, if most adorable, is to love such as soul. the
mind is tribunal, marinating, debating the interior critic.
a lady appeared to herself. a
gentleman placed her on a pedestal—it made it hard to reflect normally.
unsung heroes, lambent souls,
feeling inadequate.
the woman was crossed inside. any
mistake would cause her to lose—status, stature, classification.
garden flakes, the flinging mind, energies
bundled, made terrific.
that marvelous woman, sinning in her
marvelous soul, pleading to survive.
if gusts would speak, hearts would
flutter, souls would soar.
spiderlike fire, volt-paws, they
come, they go.
