Shackled in ambition,
sweet loves tied through in
sorrowful yesterday’s
searching for warmth as in birth;
a thousand becomings,
a thousand boundary lines.

some talk of a foolish necessity in nature and hierarchy to beckon
and tear a flame from its comfort in chaos,
to wrench its light into shadows it did not deign
to brighten...

Somewhere a matchbox is swept out from under the leg of a table, and in newfound contact with the ground the whole floor comes crashing unto itself...

I do not know what causes a body to revolt:

"The N-terminus of EWS/FLI1 retains the prion-like transactivation domain of EWSR1. This allows EWS/FLI1 to both bind RNA polymerase II and recruit the BAF complex. These interactions change heterochromatin to euchromatin at EWS/FLI1 DNA-binding sites effectively generating de novo enhancers
The C-terminus of EWS/FLI1 retains the DNA-binding domain of FLI1. While wild-type FLI1 recognizes an ACCGGAAG core sequence, EWS/FLI1 preferentially binds GGAA-repetitive regions. There is a positive correlation between the number of consecutive GGAA microsatellites, EWS/FLI1 binding, and target gene expression.
The core motif of ETS transcription factors includes a GGAA sequence. EWS/FLI1 may bind to such sequences with greater affinity than the wild-type ETS member disrupting the normal regulation of ETS target genes."

I did not like the phonics- I did not like how blunt the nomenclature was. It was ugly and guttural, full of dissonant clips of the tongue and glottal propulsions. I am sorry I could not remember the names- even if they were ugly.

I suppose you never think of me, and in your current cataclysm drift away from my person evermore. Nevertheless, I will write this- not as testament but as a reaction:
I am sorry.

There were insecurities placed inside of you by your caretakers- things surrounding intelligence, direction, and lechery. I hope that they will relinquish their scruples to your fate, and that perhaps you will see a glimmer of love as snow drifting downwards to blanket you in numbness when you choose to go outside.

I watch dreamers turn to terror
in acts of unbecoming; laughing  
till’ they come across some caesura
that caps their throttled love
shifting into stone.

In observance I sing with a tongue plucked from centuries back,
as an attestant to melody and motion
for those that forget nature
is always dancing.

A forest is only idle
when we’ve lost our time for rest-
in rhythm it sips joy up again
and sheds it in sweat upon a stage of itself
for nothing more than color
and the song of an insect.

I will say,
but my saying is the same as all other things said:

man can be boiled in a ***
till nothing shows but his bleached white bones;
collect a few and build an effigy
to soothe your soul to sleep.

that counterfeit death
formed as a life of empty digits
will haunt you hollow
and mark your children too;

they will never look
upon bags of bridled bones
as hopes to be carried;
but as hallmarks of a blindness
placed squarely in their sight.

these beasts have been wrangled
ages ago,
but the sneer of the hunter persists.

animals will be tracked and traced
till form becomes blankness
and their corpses return to the ground...  

then the sky will laugh
in great gusts bellowing down;
because it has no word for forward.

sadly,
i believe,
a word can only approach color.

my masquerade of violet
exists as the consequence of red
and aquamarine.

and i see no likeness to
“vivacity” and “sorrow”.

“children” and “gravestones”
might be a bit better,

but they are not red and aquamarine.