inching to feet.

There is an inch in me that yearns to be a foot. Deep and delicate at once, wide and wise to the wind, the receptive field internally is quite absent to this external force. Or not so, because the truth supersedes nothing when the day's lies tempt so tastily. When I am nourished by wrongness and take no recollection of the peril, the inch in me becomes in, cut shorter still. Lately the three-squares are building towers of torment around my peace, so although my peace is my piece, the climb out into an aseptic world is germane to the fall in. I do not know what will be portrayed and I do not know who I will betray, but I do sense my mouth requesting nothing but the day's leaven. Everything else complicates my understanding. Here the lines are blurred to my perception of good and bad. If I cannot discriminate can I feel no pain? If I cannot decipher can I rejoice in fortune? That is why I want to be a foot, deep. I want to plunge more away and towards all that is and is not me for just one glance of your set-up. If I knew your floor plans, I may not break down the walls.

Broken walls in this sea of the inch. It is all in one dimension.

when you find it too easy

The decided nature to emphasize wrongful choices as other wrongful doings take place is a truth to the high road onto easy street. This high way is an oxymoron before it even comes to be because inherent in the judgment of that which is right to be right and wrong to be wrong is an involuted, unsubstantiated train of reasoning. I can't let on, facially, that I adhere or admit one box or the other, for I feel the guilt of separate systems of belief in my short course of morality. When it is too easy to be cavalier, then it is time to recalibrate the intention thermostat. My discerning is stronger now that I see the ease of others [and myself] to commit to a claim that holds spite in the central canal. I refuse to submit to a title that is less about encompassing the complexity of mine and other's lives but rather used to sharpen a tongue blade that slices off insult and injury. Until labels become artistic in manifestation, I prefer to work out of ideas.

When it is too easy to belittle the bemoaning of concrete pains, then it is far over due to sink into deep understanding to save, if even possible, a shred of mutuality. The celebration of life is neither taking it nor saving it. Rather it is being with it, as if it has no other moment but the potent one in space and time formally recognized as the now.

two pillows and a destination

I christen this quickly, as I have a previous engagement with my nocturnal side. This time never comes soon enough, yet leaves well before it is asked to part. I pray I am present enough to let the neurotransmitters in my retina fire freely and without fear of the forthcoming light. When there is light, the process shuts down. How needed I know my time to exit confusion is, for I am one step out now looking back at my blindness. Although I cannot champion retrospect completely just yet, I can slowly severe still the by-products of my hurried nature. Maybe in the future, either near or distant, I will separate time and space, God and man, and look to myself as an inhabitant of all of the above. Then I can watch as each unfolds slowly.