The uneasiness is palpable dealing with the inner
giant. I was losing ground in a system with color at its root. I was mesmerized
by what I called love. Out the trenches the mud spread over the ceiling. Most souls
are pensive upon a wistful feather. In sensing you I add the holiness, despite,
the filth in us. I’ll leave that alone, tilling trauma, a sickle to wisdom. Permeated
by healing the justice of the forbidden, eyes awakened, moved by innocence. I’ve
learned humanness becomes skills the object is making it seem natural. Infatuated
with the explanation. Mind mad dilemmas. Adopted by condition. Either all or
nothing the partial celebration is incomplete: waves to comforts, sensing the
winds, motion desires navigation. In looking at you I was embarrassed. In
talking to you I imagined we weren’t speaking. From courtside to gardens the
aborted feeling with breath at the core. You might fret an emotion, most fret a
life, many know the cycle. The uneasiness becomes existence. Trees became
witness. Each literature tries to explain human condition. Something of
entrance has consumed humans. A dear soul passed away. A good person. A literature
icon. He never emoted emotion.
