I sit
by Composure, asking her name, investigating talking-cures; I swallow pride,
I inspect reason, wondering its conscious motivation; I see a leaf, I pet a
squirrel, we laugh, tell jokes, and return to our rooms; this impatience, by a
patient palm, a neighbor calling his feline; this alley cat, this filthy orange
toby, where racoons are looking for opportunity; our Theorists books,
our myriad studies, where, at moments, I ponder that aura: so settled in
uncertain concrete, such mystical arrogant humility, while itching a puritan’s
gaze; this unyielding film, while it becomes me—to realize I am less of a
participant; but pandas are gorgeous, while bears are majestic, but nothing
outwits those cultic-eyed wolves. I made a gesture today, becoming this
participant, while psychs may have smiled; our levitation, our micro-atoms, our
secular mystic yoga; such proofs this life, such validity in emotion, albeit,
our thoughts may venture too far; but Love is smart, studying objectivity’s
limits, or roses and daisies delivered to subjectivity; this fire in nostrils,
this observation of salons, so accustomed to living through literature.
I’m
back to cognition, this creative milieu, while Reason is up for trial; to tribunal
Logic, to ask her name, while Logic in tight-lipped; this musical platypus, those
indifferent mantises, while analyzing this mystic songbird. I’m hearing
chirpings. I see a woman. I’ve made out her features. But days are passion,
pacing retorts, filled with something becoming social; as economic spirits,
reading into Karl Marx, something a bit risqué; so against our habits,
performing, nonetheless, and purely estranged from our labors; such avarice,
those avaricious predators, but life needs its fulcrums; to imagine
sharing wealth, to imagine something relaxed forging equality, or to sing about
luxuries footing factories; so we become commodities, this usable thing, while
grateful for our new work hours; as creatures surfing, this political dynamic,
while Love is beautiful, always!
Our
knowledge enveloping, our attack upon thinking, while pure, unadulterated
thought, is blaspheme; grannies laugh, but this is how we think, while taking
up inquiries important to the few; our cherries for breakfast, our bagels for
lunch, or our breasts for dinner; at deeper needs, debating protein intake, or
sliding into Nietzsche: arrogance became this search, to introduce something so
mendacious, while its comfort is pure illusion…indeed, roaming our
conscience, or claiming pure identity, while fevered with a man’s wife; such ignobility,
proffering our concerns, while wondering these mental omens; our minds taking
issue, our personalities in our minds, where two are at war; this shifting in
traffic, this itchy migraine, so close to our own destruction: but this is
weakness, for stronger conquers strongness, and if we desire we must have!
I,
too, have a tendency, as quite bias. I war this flavor. I contend as most
wretched. And Lord is witness, I wonder about human insanity. Rereading de
Stael, this life where it hurts, while a man must type softly; this difference
with riches, this toleration reaching boundaries, while a man raises another
man’s child; pure at notification, or maybe it popped up, but days are salons
and upper echelon; freedom becomes tyranny, while something is asserted,
building upon actual social realities; a man is his imagination, a soul
is its relations, plus, intellectual communication takes precedence over moral
concerns; a woman is power, a dream to live in London, and fiction is under
steep scrutiny; plus, Plato is a legend, Aristotle defends poesy, and we follow
wit praise.
Of course,
this destination, of course such heartbreak, and of course it’s permissible;
this strong reality, the Behn foresight, while I pine and ache and rethink this
soul in London.
