I would chain smoke, reexamining
seas and buildings and visionaries. the cigarette would burn, as soothing
melody, a smile upon an image. I never could know, as in detail, the frame of
the castle wafting on high. I might sneeze, cough, and take a sip. never
knowing in detail the skies have kissed a dream. many variances. many energized
souls. much greater excellence. eventually, one stops retreating, stops
engaging, and exits the camera frame. often, one declines the invitation to
play marbles, and refuses to acknowledge the withdraw. in this line of thought,
it isn’t necessary to adhere to something unclear. over a ways yonder, in a
boat, on a yacht, seats a miracle in our eyes—laid out, oiled with almonds and
lotion, listening to a softer essence. or working through a novel, raiding her
inner chambers, trespassing the walls of sanity, as running around the inner
asylum. if to magnify an image, to touch attraction, leaving it to perish in
rotation. a fire inside of a furnace, an ice patch inside of limbo, our
uncertainty as a mini-novel, a novella, a racy memoir. but days are smiles,
hugs, slight discomfort—tales of this, and fables of that. I have acquired a few
in unclarity, a few wiser, a few more practiced—to wash a cloud, to decide in
turn, if to determine where I fit in. answers remain familiar, fantasies remain
in closure, walking backwards remains unsuitable, nigh illegal. the gentilities
are with us, in different spaces, at different temperaments, so estranged from
those decisions. the overseeing must be necessary, else, it wouldn’t be, I just
wonder about the one making the determination.
