everything's muddled in the
middle
and the smudged edges of
the mirror now plague me
those undefined forms of
self that lie on the periphery
seemingly always intangible,
always circumnavigating
I want to see past my own
reflection into other things.
there's clarity in the darkness
once you get there
but there is such a long way
off and out of focus.
I need to make sense of what's
here, what's in front of me
(image from zestymaids.com)
some slight semblance of god
out there on the horizon
in cloud patterns and maneuverings
and things lost in translation
out there on the horizon
there’s a familiar sense of mutation
and things lost in translation
behind the eye of the beholder
there’s a familiar sense of mutation
in every chosen disobedience
behind the eye of the beholder
swells malignancy and comfort
in every chosen disobedience
in every dissident’s configuration
swells malignancy and comfort
and some semblance of a god
are we of those
glowing sparks
the most of whitened
wishes in the wind
the slightest of touches
exaggerated...
bear with me, this,
the longest April.
shall we unite
in a forever bond
shall we give forward
our offspring, Pleasure
pushing and pulling out
the gush of Love
something dear and true,
something to be cradled
or be saddened with the
deflation of two hearts
that have expired into those
winds of wishes...
the well of myself
has become
deeper than I'd imagined
(Image from flickr.com)
