Thursday, June 30, 2016

strict devotion to condition.

i've lost track of where i am. this
might as well be
a desert. this shape of the wild

i must adjust to understanding- surviving, therein;
losing sight of being heard.
losing sight of wanting from others.

i fear abandonment
though often

i'm sure if only i just listened to it
i would know what to do

without causing disaster.

i am alone in a humiliation
purported by transfiguration, new folds
of the voice- a static

misunderstood by
even itself, the mischief. i am trying to be

god again, trying to manipulate
what i say, trying

to author my movement. feeling lost
of control, i attempt

taking charge; charging 
blindly. spontaniously

charging- hooves clacking. head bowed

presenting horns

to a desert night. i don't want to belong alone. i will

lose sight soon, surely
overcome by a need for water.

i'm not god, again.

become. always believing

i am prepared for change- i love change,
constancy- i worship
change, constancy. mantras

aren't always all it takes. celebration
is neurotic.

look at the trees, still sending

the same dancing signals
they are positioned in. at least

we have the trees. there is nothing else hopeful
we can say, i say.

look at the trees, i tell
my new body, recently shed

of enough layers of skin
that it has become monotonous

that i cannot stop dancing
becoming entirely reflection, then
entirely losing reflection

for another new reflection. this is grief.

this is grief and joy.

i remain dizzy, in chronic pain. what is it about

the trees?
i don't recall- something
appropriated, i'm sure.
look at the trees. not the moon, or the sun- look

at the trees. i don't know why.