i came home with stuttered feet
seemingly clambering for rooted ground,
walking from one bus to another tolled by gin and sachet tea
washed by red beer ~ slip on graveled streets
in lamp~lighted corners
the sun outside saw
the burning inside me
throw a stupor
i came home
and fast on my bed
utter foolishness that you still continue to grovel,
it was your vision blinded by a kindness you felt was necessary
to indicate what could not have been possible
in six weeks and a week more.
thankless you carefully bait one word after another
it is needless. for in a day you can finish what could really be possible
in six weeks and no more.
let not your freedom suffer.
in two days, be, leave, and in freedom grow.
in short lapses, my mind inevitably takes me to places where it wishes to stay and simply live for a while... to stretch out the blubber that has accumulated over time, to think unconditionally, and to resolve the various affairs of the heart. recently, i managed to sort out a somehow familiar fishing place for one of those envisioned escapes. maybe sail out to that yonder sea, forgetting that i do fear vast seas and oceans, or simply watch the sun rise and set and she should be with me...
but all i see now are fishing boats, and nets, and lamps.
i noticed the clouds were coming low, touching
rolling mountain passes,
across lowland trees and ricefields,
soaring over humble houses and sun-burnt workers of harvest lands.
for a momentary shade and shower from the high noon sun,
when the ship is ready i will sail to the yonder
whether at day or upon the setting of good moonlight.
i will be missed,
but as it is the rule of life
that a day is foretold for our passing to the next,
when my day comes, let me sail to that beyond
and leave this world to you, the next bethrothed to lead the world.
not any of the usual morning greetings ~ minus the persistent showers or the gloom clouds ~ morning came with a good shine ~ it was morning yellow turning every dark crevice and corner into a rippled calmness of blue. i am made aware that there's always tomorrow for a new day, whether scattered rainfall or a blooming sunrise, either makes a lasting difference, either makes either as beautiful.
it was as if she made her presence felt despite distressing setbacks. this time she came written on a car plate. it was a minute sensation of relief and comfort, but did not really resolve anything. as what is based on what reality represents, nothing is still nothing, and any something drawn from nothing is drawn from a desperate make-believe. ໜ້ອຍ
that is why i need to go far away from here. in denial i suppose that i am not ready to leave. or live in the manner that is in four squares compelled to be. i hate to lose me. either way, we still rise from the cocoons we conveniently made-believe for ourselves.
a lot of nonsense from you. again and again. again and again. you're way whacked up up there. creating seeming problems when there really is none, or when really too negligible. making issues of everything. and now, you concoct this cocoon theory. now don't tell me you are now flying in rainbow. what sort of push are you in? are you seeing doubles, triples, millions of shining glittering whatever pieces you seem to piece?
this is no 'i am under the influence of ****. i am just regressing into... instability..
again. hmm... so... what happened?
i almost killed me. almost.