frustration! how have we addressed
it? is it evolutionary? the way it conceals itself, makes for tolerance, learns
to ignore itself. right in the mirror, sunbathing, moonshining. chords and
syllables. life and excursions. so much left unanswered. frustration has
clarity, elusiveness, and self-sacrifice; it dreams of an exit, from industry
and emotion, while it computes a dozen irritations. in slow motion, mirrored to
itself, with nothing but merciful listeners; seaweed aggravation, certain
filters, if but to salute survival. pressure builds, the body responds, some
haven’t seen it—its purple in sympathy, in its nature. how to edit frustration?
how to color it? what face does it wear?
we know when we see it—this is the tale—until we don’t see it, and it’s
there. we gravitate towards it, a strange element, discernment comes late at
times.
out of pits, sustained by
treachery, it hurts and it becomes anger; at points, it becomes sorrow, with
listening seeming irrelevant—no need for honesty, no need for chivalry, the
dance isn’t for elevation—of persons, existence, weather, or grain.
pure frustration, wood-smothered
ambition, if sung a song on high.
most desperate minds, bodhi pangs, waiting at the gates.
