I
loathed parts of myself, made uneven, fighting images, disputing mirrors. One
dream defender, one elderly woman, sipping, looking with comedic flare,
non-anxious, laughing from heart-webs; wise as Davis, brave as her husband, a
modest art, a woman made widow—those with rivers, meadows, animal like,
primitive, filled with reason, intuition, glued to rhythms, ideals. Debating Abolition.
Conflicted against freedom and freedom as we know it—those crevices, an ability
to vet or resist, as opposed to absolute certainty. Mind Activists. Overall
feelings conflicting with individual trinkets, devices, morals, pain and
integrity.
I
loathed identity. A strange reality. Adult life is rebuilding, restructuring,
undoing, un-webbing.
Up
against a life of dreams, framed by hopes, wishing upon the indifference, faith
placed in another world; several strange conditions, feelings
constructed from the outside, deeper darkness ingested—roaming wilderness, circling
deserts, a stranger in the town.
Eating
hedge hogs, something becomes illogical, epithets inverted, soulful smiles,
necessary and true.
By
measure—it isn’t correct, tigerbone wishes, guinea pig realities, reading
visionaries.
Sound
cravings, to hear certain lines, crazed over injustice—carrying weights, made
religious, reading Blake; fuel of the arts, wrestling schematics, challenged by
realities.
A
road covered in thickets, briers bled of flesh, deeper darker inferiority
complexes—a strange attraction, something different is something right; soil
and bushes filled with rattlers, a man carries a rhinoceros, a woman caries a
cobra—many monsters miles closing, confused about confliction, said impermanent
with time—listening to visitors, becoming reflection abhorrers, pavement
indifference.
Many
carrying America, southern winds, trying to preserver, living vicariously,
everyone else has life, a world unfriendly to souls, made addictive with
chimes.
