murmurations
According to the accordion of current catastrophes I am to unfold as many menageries. On earth. Replicating some symbolic growth on original soil. I taste irrelevance…familiar salt as I awaken again from this non-sleep repeat. Death to the learned me and light on ancient self that remains on my heart shelf. To see in shapes is to miss mistakes and movement lies when frozen inside.
Somehow God had been forgotten—therefore involved, but somehow rotten. I have never attempted to deny and have only been in search of reply…seeking the stars to get me by, standing, MY, decay, all in evidence’s way of shadow and smoke, identifying as a practical joke and creating my own symbol of gracious shape at night I would produce the magic tape hoping to win. And even if I got in-- my story grew scarce. The frown’s just purpose is to reject plastic repairs.
And so I begin the debate surrounding how to NOT wait.
To diminish time right up to the minute is the only way I think I will again GET IN IT.
Refusing to seek some final place, I pray to enjoy my own space.
5 comments:
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