Friday, November 27, 2020

Below The Treehouse

 

such upon a hammock, seated rhythmic-like, a few disturbing ants. I see a mound those dirt volcanoes where it’s easy to disappear. (the world seems unsafe or reality is bias or I have a damaging flaw; to identify with a mat or to pet a stray pit-bull with senses becoming agitated.) many fend for a cause as souls needing meaning while many seclude producing a fever. a portrait of a settee or a raggedy beanbag or carpet removed within; to ask about intention to learn for ten years—of academia, to agree with warning signs. I saw a kite as I walked the park, I tossed a clump of grass. it seems like dancing or palming shrubberies or identifying different flowers. I saw something, a younger soul, hugging a Retriever. I smiled inside as I trekked inside, life seems so unique by prima facie. (days blur into months. a woman works a manuscript. she’s filled with determination.) jamesias are in bloom, or waterweeds are rapid, as we create watchwords for our souls. a lady is mad at me, or interested in my future, or unveiled deliberately; another reads, she analyzes, she disagrees; in other quarters, I submitted a chapbook, it shall be reviewed. (such music-symbols as chess is on its ceiling, or a young prodigy; so inside of self, such a ways from self, to understanding self—the elusive chameleon, or some riddle in its joys, something hurting its controller.) I received a book. it highlights upcoming poets. she said, “Why aren’t you in there?” such ease in me, or such doom in color, or such privilege for an allotted few. (so, I wrote poems. I separated documents. I’m hoping on a chapbook. if to edit by mind or to reread every line, or to submit, as to find an error. it becomes dual, as we duel for recognition, in a city with one bullet.) the waltz for ballet, or a ballad for lies, or enmeshed too serenely to divest: our cherries with shakes, our blueberries as snacks, or our souls disagreeing with polemics. too tender to win, or too vicious to trust, or too uneasy to build friendships. (some might laugh, they might feel shocked, but some speak or befriend or come close with a purpose to help.)       

I’d Save The Reader Years

    The beat becomes sickness. A long crucible—a drilling ecstasy. I was losing focus, feeling forbidden, if to self, if to mirrors. So curs...