Wrestle
we must, caught in design, unable to break free. We,
therefore,
muscle anxiety, reaping energies. I’ve fallin’ this
place,
divided from self, melting into pixels. I must muse
beauty,
a delicate ladybug, flying freely blinded. How to
mimic
composure, as opposed to underlying turmoil? There’s
an
entity, mocking my mirror, probing my person. It’s me,
lost
in me, awaiting a burst of me. I can’t scribble it away,
pining
over colors, flipping through pages. Initiative is needed,
a
week’s retreat, drenched in prayerful articles. I speak,
undergoing
a transformation, attached to anxiety. Moments
intensify,
followed by comfort, where thought ruptures
energies.
Ever we watch, accustomed to fey, moving millennia.
Traffic
is presence, a silent strength, a flickering rain. I pause
as
a gesture to self, calculating rhythm, tugged in several
directions.
Its lively taboo, this life of lights, grounded in
electric
dust; where clocks vacuum silence, crawling into
psyches.
