in terms like wonderment and merriment and reticent i lift my head off the pillow
the joke of the dance wish it would settle in my bones but somehow its stuck sifting through the recesses of my insides somewhere between the esophagus and the belly
how can i find sheer comfort in the natural way of things when nature in and of itself is so non-forgiving.
i'm finding it difficult to believe in the sacrament of the here and now, difficult to wait for the future which is only shaped by what you do now. afraid of the pocket.
the words of the people ring heavy in my ears not knowing what limited advice and direction they offer. there words are meant to be helpful. when in reality you know you got here for a reason. and there is no lie in the truth. but there is perception in the facts. or how they are deciphered. depicted. and somehow some other way perhaps it could be rewritten. but the journey is mine. the process is mine to discover and unfold on my own.
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