I saw myself. I was somber. Pain
makes seeing a little foggy for most.
drunken tales. waterfalls. the
presence of malaise.
both a terror and a treasure, is to
love; words unveil spirits.
I endure the mixtures, the rain
spasms, the inward underpinnings.
I loved as a lost soul, some golden
intuition, to receive the running ambition.
we get tired of hearing about moths
and flames, or fireflies and bulbs, but every now and again, it registers.
at an incautious roulette table,
dice in hand, I passed the legacy. to need where it matters so little, to
become intwined in something false, upon static ground.
the word ‘rubescent’ seems unclear.
color, fragrance, senses overcharged? we just make inner minerals, some
illusion, becoming one so driven to test justice.
one held my hand. walked me to
class. sat closely, until I grew wings.
to vie is normal, attached to
myths, to lose is a fit of frustration—in knowing when to retreat!
in meeting, we knew—one was
curious, the other was too critical to see it at work. the revival, the
resuscitation, the suppressed rabidness.
in needing both X and Y, I chose to
alter X, and Y went haywire.
the skies are much more inaccurate
than most will say; more fragile than the strength we assert.
many tales, much glory, in filling
me, I will immortalize the memory.
the reality is found in pure
reflection, devoid of feelings, as guideposts; thoughts are chameleons.
over the horizon, scuttering
through the forest, we see a dream, as it unfolds.
it will occur in a meaningless
moment, a shallow day, making memory indelible.
