anxieties are never excused, they
dissipate, or they remain. some mind in its activity. some perfection in the
incompleteness. a soul with you, as to die for you, while discharged by
excellence in you. a little adrift.
floating eastbound, crumbling
grounds, inside cameras, I keep behaviors on repeat.
so adrift!
the mantis in you, the moths in
closets, the glossy eyed seer.
so cold, is better than saying, so
cruel. the cactus became its hell. it wouldn’t befriend the passerby.
one is mean, filled with graces, I imagine
us actually looking into each other.
misty Eternity. relic eyes. feeling the boundaries of omnipotence.
scars in reverse. trauma in
hindsight. I walk around with a tear to fall.
they gave me an allotment. I selected
to embrace it. I don’t fret over what could have been. it seems a fragile on-taking.
to pause for you, is to give a lung
for you, with great ambition regarding a fugitive with you.
women are laughing. they know it
isn’t that challenging. just be free. just be fun!
the film tells the truth. the drama
is actual. we like when others make us smile.
I was abandoned to love again,
flailed and livid, fleeing, running, at to and from, a glance.
aside an ice box, sits a tabby. it
gets into the cabinets. it plays with trinkets. it stares at the African
stick-figures.
people fail to include, in depth of
dialogue, it started, in parts, in voodooism. religion proper, is a
conglomerate of all came before the present establishment. most everything was subsumed.
with glee, tugging her soul, I like
her outfits. adrift!
brains leak onto paper. thoughts
squirm into meanings. lemurs never write a letter.
where Love watches, contending
daily, is where Love is satisfied—we might need that information.
I felt gummy during the interview. I
felt removed from the sociality of it all. despite, anthropology, I am aware
that skin tone is pivotal. I am too aware that exoticism has precedence.
we each have an irresistible,
impossible to please, overwhelming essence.
in all of our knowledge, in all of
our godly likeness, we fail to confess, as with humans, gods are nearly
impossible to pacify. “Blasphemy!” or adrift!
hereto, the nature of examination
has been lucrative.
gloominess, or feeling fused, or
trying to live as if skinless, a true hair, while, most times, a person is
willing to share their existence. (at least, in parts; we don’t fully know what
it is we exist for; we select this, and try to move on.) yes! children are
worth the weight of divinity—something is still moving around, anxious, eager,
we learn to sit still, and different entertainments cross our paths.
preaching aside. it does return.
the crevices of the vestibules, the
crevices of the hostilities, the crevices of the disguises, the frustration,
the beauty making it tolerable to repeat yesterday’s activities.
a passion for each culture! (adrift!)
genetic tugging, guideposts, symbols
as dictators.
eons of colors, eons of romances, eons
of seeking happiness in each other.
chalkboards grieving, chalk-brushes
wheezing, becoming, ideally, delicate, conscious/conscience warriors.
the aura of the person we can’t
impress; worse, the response of the one we don’t want; worse, the imbalance of
the one we impress and affront and surely disgust.
I’m pleading in my silence. I’m
asking for help in my behavior. too untrusting to receive the hands and arms
reaching out. worse, the arms reaching forward are buried in pressures.
candles are wafting. incense is
burning. I see a face. I say greetings, I feel presence, we commune for a
period in my perception. I can explain it; I can’t confess it.
the acme of my intentions. I put
too much into romances. with life being so fleeting, I wonder why humans put emphases
on permanence. (if to presume one, the other may be presumed also.)
I will confess something: I touch
on topics, I don’t always exhaust them, it’s up to the reader to explore them,
or, they serve as aphorisms, as does much of what we conceal.
peaks of accomplishments. peeking
from the public eye. with pride, I walk away from the possibility of the
enchantment, the thralling, the chase, the thrills.
much protection, makes it
impossible to experience much.
trenches are impassive, a skill
designed to ward off the hurting, while isolating so much, one endures the
hurting.
here’s a statement posed as a
question: I’d rather hurt alone? sounds intriguing.
eyes made precision, a sphinx, nay,
a chameleon; to rally at the banquet, to host a black-tie night, to stand guard
guiding gnarms; so sophisticated, so much a deeper secret, where feeling like
dirt becomes celestial; the degradation, the hatred of self, the love of being
tolerated. the abuse, the torture, if but to die one last adventure.
the assumption is the floating, the
actuality is the construction, the process, one would be hard-pressed to
acknowledge as true.
strong as tectonic plates. rich as
literature. so compelling. so indecent, so much a problem, so much a lifeline.
men have a time with trying to
control women. just learn to breathe! adrift!
creative roses, the mental lotus,
the gown, the legs, the crossing over, the power, the diligence, the
carefulness, the oceans of her pride.
glass toe ballerina.
“does mother appear?”
—where mother appears, the inner tambourine,
the social linguistic, the phobia; wailing goodbyes, dragging the dragon’s
floor, reaching, begging, shorn, at pure exhaustion; the reckless son, the
dungeon mentality, so forgiving, so natural, like—this is life—
