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Dalia |
of you and you and them,
cast into genres,
sifting through chaos and muck
for a rare few within arbitrary pockets of safety.
I will know you when I know what your fight-or-flight looks like.
I can’t bend enough to show them what I mean,
but sometimes there are eyes that don’t flicker
and then I am bound.
I can’t always stifle my potential,
and so I hurtle forward.
I am so free, I can do what I want.
This is the filtered product of all the if they hadn’ts.
Why only appears retrospectively,
and only how can be traced.
This launching point is the mustard seed.
Seeds yielding moments before initiation.
I can’t forget how true this is.
My mind steals empty inkwells,
And empties out the ocean.
I produce another crucible to convince you of the legend.
Arguably this field has had all in store since Horus.
I found tautology beyond these words snaking.
We haven’t even spoken of a thousand words.
I can’t remember another time we smelt so smooth and chaste.
I can’t come now because of where we’ve been.
Sites to breathe and tell are all we are winged to flee.
Labels: Dalia
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