Nothing such as death brings about a universal sense of urgency in thought and diligence, save birth.
musings & scribbles
And now, to seem as though all is but autonomous,
A shaking shook to be left shaking still, with no means
But empathy, but sympathy for self and no other, though
Other exists and holds a high head in need of resting,
But no hands or shoulders reach/slide to be there;
And all is magnetic, pulled to be away from they you know
Would rather be attached, though so forced you are to leave
Despite your wonderings of contrary beliefs held in hopes of more.
For days of weeks, we sought to be as speakers,
Though our words, most yours, are now unheard
And all is owed to mem’ry, an accidental cause.
A laugh, a question known but answered not,
For who needs such trivial’ities if words be second;
First our legislature’d hearts, signed to service,
Though so knotted in the legalities of parchments,
As to not be held in hearing, but ‘stead in subtleties,
A way of coward, I, who knew not your desires;
Desires but by an unfilling, flinched in hesitance,
Though they, through knowledge, now, be, too, mine.
And, through them, these, you will most see who this,
Yours, is, reluctantly, in speech, alone, as now is known.
such
vertical seas,
wave trees,
oceans of
light behind,
to bend toward
deepest seam.
Wind speaks,
in ways as horn of car, screech of wailer,
brush of breeze/a light touch upon the cheek or knees,
the symphony/dotted through beak of bird,
the pattern of a dragon’s flight, the
hum of bee, the wave of hand, the
rise of breast, of stomach, full,
a diaphragm, a mouth, eyes
let shut;
Wind speaks,
if you care to listen/
take care to wait/to
wade within
Wind’s ‘lightened lake;
Wind holds
your breath,
a give of take, and
, still, watches,
silent, sought,
for your return to Wind,
your leaving but a voyage,
short, yet lengthened, shook
to core, as though in
plummet, you held
to what you know must go
and, return/a prodigal/more.
And in your sight, all else becomes but sin;
A washing of the mind to wax your image in
A mind, a mind, a hole but known to see
All else becomes but darkness, blighted, the
Worst is yet as come they may, find me, here,
A drawing of the blood in cheek as through fear,
But hold not your wand, your lock, your complexity,
Before your ire; I know nothing less than words to me;
Feeling, the regret, a hold they have upon the skin,
A shake of life, from hair of neck by sores to cl’n.
How low the deep-sought soul, waxing your grace
To be as cook, so bold to know nothing, less your taste.
And, yet, I do not wish you these words as they are,
As they be but mirrors let bubble to, as in wave from far.
I believe we are the only animal who may hold their ass at the pit of their being, or at the midway of their person, or as their highest part.
I think it best to hold an eye mostly closed, if not partially open, with the other wide, so you may, if through physical means alone, be observing the world through more than a single means.
Smile, you are only owed happiness.
dropped the pen
, kicked the phonecord
and didn’t give two thoughts.