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i keep becoming
on words i know not,
phrases i’ve said
yet give no hint towards their meanings, truth.

i say such things as,
“i wish the world would stop
turning, so i may..”
and others, too, i say:
“i realize what words
are worth, though eyes
lead more to be known.”

i catch myself
being caught on them,
as though what i’ve said
already is not enough,
and i am caught,
in turn of phrase/of
lung’d wind, and i
hold out their clarity,
though they be but brief,
as thoughts,
clouded-climbing, climb
and fall, as though an
emperor being tossed
to pit through air
of all.

and what a memory i have, this
confused grin, all but wordings in
a solid stance, a state i knew
but follow not, as though my head,
in slump,
went through the turnings of the mind,
forced to be, eternally, in lack of ‘wind.

i wish
i were normal,
though i know
i am anything but.

i wish
i were able to sustain a thought for longer
than the words take to escape.
i wish i were not afraid,
and held out my hand,
rather than keep it close,
and turned, palm-down,
as i may help others–
no, that i do not wish,
as they always need help,
and, by being this way,
i, and they, both benefit.

i wrestle with my fingers
to type a single sentence,
and i wonder how crazy i am.

i feel half-made, half-wandered,
likening myself to some cloud,
whose grey-belly’d drag of sky
leads, eventually, toward
drenchings of those fortunate few

there was a chore i once completed,
i believe it was taking out the trash,
and that one was, to me, a make up of
all priors, incomplete; how selfish
the childish mind, when thinking
only of the actions, mine, and with no real resemblance
to a child, daughter, son, of one whose
wishes were as simple as
to push a mop or vacuum.

knowledge is but knowing,
holding on to what is you,
and giving back some piece,
autonomous as that may be.

[{()}]see the eye for what it’s worth:
great craftsmanship,
and little else;
or, better, hold the body
in breeze, and know,
through motions, movements,
breathes the world,
this, and these.

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musings & scribbles