I’ve loved a silent agony
with
irony making sadness. I’ve
adored
a smile as made precious
keeping with
fantasy. At segue, squinting
at gnats,
ignoring self-facing
identity.
I’ve laughed at self,
embarrassed on ice,
living some dynasty—craving
reality,
passing her by, atwitter,
thus, nervous,
moving unto graces; a
destined child,
introduced to irony,
knowing men
are building a church; by
disastrous
underpinnings, sorting
through underbrush,
trying to unlock,
decipher, reel in
ecstasy. A man will adore
without
investigation—only once
in life,
hoping it goes
swimmingly. I’ve desired
innocence, potential
snake, faithful to
a dear image—wrangling with
professors,
denied before asking,
with others feeling
dreary, thus, imposing
upon dreams. Many
a sickle to literature—many
a thief
of astronomy, left to
face a stream.
I would analyze a
mistake, wondering
as I wandered, deciding
it was meant in
humility.
