Extrovertism
or any other sibling
of it
doesn’t realise itself solely
through the mannerisms of
speaking,
choice of company,
activities or
similar antics.
It mainly possesses in
its hold our
mind as a way
of revealance,
as our
thoughts might cling
on it dependent,
in constant
shouting & fleeting
from Stillness,
our lone
presence
;
OR either have
‘em all ready
in conscious observation
questioning on
the inside in your
private voiceless,
conversation

to detach yourself
from others’
contact
.
it’s all,
felt sublime,
when the latter,
comes and makes,
itself a
difference
.

Drips sweat
and yet
being a sucker for punishment
he stoically resists coming in from
the sun,
the sum being,
dehydration,

self preservation
finally kicks in
kicks him
in the nethers
and whether he wanted to
or not
he moves,

sprawls out
falls out
calls out
for water.

(from the beautiful messages some of you send me, this my unintended answer, my thanks, my concerns, all brewed and blended, emerging in this the first second of this say, this day)

the day’s light is undecided. Alternating currents of cloudy
and peek-a-boo sunshine are reflecting outward from my insides onto the world exterior as personality is the best envisioning filter, making you and reality mirror each other, and there are no lines, no divisions.

you awake and instant watch water moving; the currency of
water are the surface wavelets, like wind blown hair.  So, what notions  I have going on is that the water wears wigs (shhhh!) just to keep its integral integrity of constant dishonesty, that being its
natural state.

and
recall nature is just your insides eking, leaking out in...wavelets
and wigs.

all this wonderful nonsense is my heart deeded  eking, leaking, in droplets, in constant motion, this water is never placid, never perfectly still, always moving, sometimes rumbling...and she and I talk about not having a child to take care of in the morning as a sad freedom to
pamper and experiment ourselves even as we co-exist in sweats and t-shirts which segues into a conversation how we moderns crave simplicity over the complexity of living in “modern” times, making us vulnerable to leaders who offer promises of draining, return to the good ole days, forgetting that in just forty years the world fought two wars that killed millions, destroyed the landscape, left billions in miserable existence, and yet shaped, still shapes, the world via today’s unraveling global structure...

so I return to the water, marveling at its life long deception...motion
constant, to the human eye, random and disorganized, yet balletically
organized with synchronicity and yet above and underneath is a whole world in random cooperation, but not necessarily peaceful coexistence...

a mobile, ever changing jigsaw puzzle where the pieces fit together
for just a second before devolving into a new puzzle and on and on...
the surface calm of our appearances, flecked with expressions, our body reshaping with every step is a testimony to the inconstancy of living and I think I could never write a good enough poem to explain how we each inside and outside coexist with engines of turmoil inside, churning, and the oceans and the rivers exist only to remind us that water comes in many colors, and when we dip even a finger in running flows, we  alter the course of history, humanity, eternity, and all words that end in Y, that are really big, the all encompassing ones;

every thought, every blink, every word, is so revealing and I rejoice, secure in that knowing, for it is the source of creating and here I am creating this one second’s summary and I must stop for here comes another second, another glance asking for love,

like a child climbing into your early morning bed, ear to ear grinning, announcing their presence as their gift to you and the world in general, and of course they are exactly right, like every fluid body of water...

Yesterday he ran so  free  
Then he walked us off our feet
He jumped right up and then we found
He was exspecting his favourite treat.
Upon that day he wanted to play
He just never seemed to stop
Then on that night he didn't seem right
It was on the floor he flopped.
He climed on our bed then didn't move
It really was so alarming
We thought about the bone he chewed
Hoping that it didn't harm him.
He laid and laid and didn't budge
He was such a saddened sight
We shall wait until the morning
We couldn't sleep that night.
At seven o'clock he gave a bark
we thought he would never stop
He ran down stairs at such a speed
The pigeons all flew off.
Now he is completely oblivious
To think he almost made us sob
We had one hell of a restless night
Whilst he was sleeping like a log.

There heated up
The sight,
A pit lures, drags, with thoughts
beautifully by elegance perverted,
The rain my own furnace,
That I make it do of it itself,
That I make it be then of myself.

I choose to dance without body
Yet to make steps in dark in negation,
Observation, a true rascal-ification,
In other words: notes of silence resounding.
Moment the floor,
Heartbeats for the feet.
Air-tight bubbles for the breath.

Minstrel of Utopias I’ll become,
Standing as Ellipsis I’ll be intact,
And I’ll see as the end shall come
Through tears burning from
Nothingness of clouds.

I choose to gleam in
Eyes of half-liddance
And what is done of their feverish?
Sweat’s going out from the fascinating,
The chest is being opened to feel
how hot is the cardiac muscle
And love is made to its battles,
In the dark of the Day,
As you wish,
Or in the lightness of the Night.

You don’t tell reason, the right,
There is sound in feather’s flight