finding it impossible
to stand square against
my truth and just
put it on paper
say in words
express oneself, absolutely
and finally.
Maybe its the way a
minor chord tripping
on these hard wired
emotional triggers
eclipses the plainness of
our banal truth
That I don't know
Why I want
to pull it
all down.
In the coldness of uncertainty
in the unsatisfying reality
of this stage of life
where there are fewer sure
things than ever before
the light cast obliquely through
the prism of experience
and language
paints the picture in
a way to mollify
to scratch the itch that
eternity refuses to
An inexhaustible unknown
an impossibly choice
an absurd reality.
Every truth is individual
because there are no other
truths.
We're all, always on the same
very offshoot bound by
an impenetrable dark
only possible to know after
the wanting to know
subsides
but then nothing matters
is nothing, is no more
us or anything resembling
a possible knowing now
We are ghosts, shadows
we are skeletons
wearing human costumes
and playing dress up
inhabiting lives we guess at
from watching others
knowing better than me
Letting each other in on
the joke
is the greatest kindness we
can give to those
beating hearts with
whom we share
our disappearing minutes
and she, body next to
mine
flesh so alive and
lovely
stirring in me a primordial
reaching out for communion
seen and unseen
darkness of night or
burning sun I want to
be entirely other than
only myself
Creating one new thing
neither she nor I
but more and so
much less
indelibly
and irrevocably less
than the longing
for an understanding
we were expressly designed
to never reach.
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