Upon a beat, ignoring self, bleeding
through content. The frame in its sin, by sin
in its repentance, by a Ghost, to
wonder, to ask some hard questions. I keep
seeing you, it’s strange, I imagine it’s
just with me: on occasion, a person
will adjust. I was at a meaning in
self, I was arguing in spirit,
churning, battling, and pop.
Many tears lately, something released,
indirect catharses.
I imagine, on a serious
voyage, people of caliber, feel light
—until heavy—able to get to a
space: Christ in souls, Elijah & a small
whisper, Ezekiel & one locke—nothing can stand
alone, never alone, feeding on sheer abundance, accustomed to some extent.
Never understood what others convict in mind, pure sunshine, rain as a natural
element, made necessary. When I spoke, I noticed, & we dwelled there. A
silent measure, a polite suffusion, an interior dialogue. So possessed—so determined,
closing boxes, exploring dungeons, maybe to aid, to feel it’s necessary, for
slight, on caliber, can’t overpower decades at liberation. & exceptions,
rules broken, skies inverted, God’s Ear! I’ll adjust—walking tunnels, finding
alike-ness—composing, building an edifice, knitting a prosaic design.
