is it the paradox of construction

of an unseen core or a painful interiority

with an insistence on a dark meloncholy

which is it, which is it, oh which is it

is it unreasonable I ask, to persist obstinately

in sorrow

or is such a cause a despair of bitter corrosiveness

centered on that very paradox

who with astonishing vividness

conveys the spontaneous rhythms of the mind

a mind in motion that preserves unprcedented intensity

that reflects disturbing exchanges of intimate encounters

intertwined in unresolved vagaries that present themselves

with the passage of time

and view these dark attractions in the same moment

the same moment of becoming, yes at that moment

the moment of our death