Since the embryonic mental state
My arms have prickled
Tickled like mad.
Recently, post-punishment
Soft, white down
Feathers
Emerged on my back and arms.
A mix of fear and hope
So overwhelming.
As I have avoided
The resentful, the hateful
I’m almost fully grown
Six foot wing span.
I almost ran
So close
I almost ran away
Until I saw their strength

I would rather be
A star swirling in unconscious ecstasy, or
The air captivated by gravity, or
One single wave as it shies from the shore, or
A pebble cemented into the sidewalk path underneath a leaf
as it’s cracked and crushed under the heedless, preoccupied nature of man, or
A humble crease of a sick rose’s petal, or
One coffee ground stuck to the bottom of a yellowed, chipped mug,
Because it doesn’t matter, it does not matter.
Nothing truly matters.
Whether you’re privileged or impoverished,
Content or depressed, dispassionate or obsessed,
A ****** or a giant, timid or defiant,
Powerful,
                           Crippled,
Insane,
                Naïve,
Whether you’re green with jealousy or environmental tendencies,
Whether you Fight,
Fight for world peace,
Fight to end, to ****, Hunger,
It will not matter.
Because Man is addicted to conflict.

War is on the pedestal.

Hatred, envy, greed, lust, and hunger all

FIGHT

To ensure its power.

With every hand that scrambles for control,
With every eye that narrows to aim,
With every breath held for stability,
That pedestal heightens and heightens.

You might as well sigh for the butterfly who killed all those damaged, but innocent individuals.
Its gentle wings, essential to its survival, are to blame.
So you might as well accuse that abusive husband in New Jersey for the Iraqi War,
And that fisherman in the ****** Islands for global warming,
Or that little boy who's crying for the emasculated, shrunken, pathetic homeless man muttering,
“Hope is hope because hope is never hope. Hope like a rabbit, hope hope hope.”

Can you not see?
Can you even Be?

I can only hope for an escape, an exploitation of no conflict or aggravation.
just one wisp of matter with no conscious mind.
I can only point at all inconsistence with determination to prove that the only consistency in this entire universe is simply
ILLUSION.

Here is the situation,
As unfortunate as it is,
You no longer have a significant part of my heart.
Once there used to be a time, twice a time, when thoughts
bombarded my mind and chances were they concerned you.
But now my eyes, as reluctant as they are, can see you,
You unintentional enchanter.
You accidental seducer.
You oblivious snarer of infatuated captivation.
You are the alpha of canker blossoms.
You are the epitome of everything that frustrates me.

I used to live in a house where the
Walls were your voice and your face.
A mental institution in which I was never voluntarily admitted.
A house of mirrors in which I couldn’t see myself or anybody else,
My thirst for your infatuation reflected,
Mocking smiles of every kind.

I cried blackened tears that fell to the
Ground and then flew into the sky like
Bleached ravens, like childhood dreams,
So carefully groomed by the mommies and the daddies,
Collapsing into little liquid drops dripping through the desperate holes of a strainer.

I cried because you seemed to find it
Necessary to seek interests in other girls
And never me.
I am not a bruised apple;
I am not a crushed autumn leaf;
I am not a discarded baby blanket;
And I am not unworthy.
So why in god’s oh so deemed holy name
Have you not seen me?

Or maybe you see it right on my face,
Like I’m a displayed canvas as easy to
See as red blushed from a pale, void surface,
And you are just messing with me.
Playing with me
As I am your spaniel and you can treat me as such?
Like I am a doll whose string you pull
And receive a pathetic voice pleading,
Love me love me.
Am I below your standard of interesting?
What could possibly be so wrong with or about me that repulses you?
Not you really, but more your interest in me.
At this moment I am wound tighter with exasperation
More than any moment before.
You will always be a tug of war in my life.
If only I could simply expel you,
The nuisance you are.

The man in the moon swallowed me whole,
Just as I began to admire his soft glow;
There he was, knowingly smiling over
The scary affairs of my teenage cares.
Apparently, I should mention
My attention was too much,
The perfect remedy for pro-love prevention.
Just in case it was neglected,
I must warn you,
Affection to your reflection sways you
To believe your giggle is perfection.
But when you are presented with rejection,
You’ll step back with a confused expression,
Wondering what happened to his original affection.

Now, I proceed.
I concede
Wooing the moon is harder than
Shaving a true hippie on ecstasy or ***
In the middle of the sea.
Why do I love someone who constantly
Turns around and hides himself
Whenever seconds pass
Only to tease me with peeks of his soul?
Oho what a divine mystery!
He’s a maze with infinite doors,
More complex than hallways,
More intriguing than apple cores, skin pores, folklores, or antique stores.

But
He wears a different face every day,
Masks of white, amethyst, and grey.
And
He seduces a variety of personalities,
Of intellectual minds, of our kind.
With his charm that, more than good, does harm
To us; who have put forth increasing
Efforts to make his eyes glitter,
We who pride ourselves on mental capacity, titter
With giggles,
Because we cannot think of a better reaction,
We are so consumed with him.

Freedom from the man in the moon’s
Enticing effect came only when I saw:
His redundant, repetitive cycles of beliefs and views,
Only sometimes were they new;
His aloof disconnection from others,
Even when I carefully showed the best parts of my soul;
And
The Fact
That so many others found him
Captivation, enchanting, and beautiful
Without the knowledge or understanding
Of his desires, values, or issues,
Of his dreams, sorrows, or needs.
Ignorant, blind, obsessive aspects of infatuation
Sicken me.

Now, for the better, I relay with
Content at this little success that it is
Much easier to tease, to debate,
To befriend the man in the moon
Now that I can resist his effervescent
Glow.

Still, I acknowledge, anticipate, and dread
The algae, the residue of my ephemeral love,
The waves and cycles of my affection;
Still, I crave a lucid connection to his mind, to his soul,
For I know enough
To embrace his being as consistently
As the sea kisses the sky.

But hardly does he ever show all of himself to one,
But always does he offer smiles and woos to all;
So, patience is my haven.
Empathy is my understanding;
Distraction, my refuge, my remedy.

Eventually, the man in the moon
Might attempt to love me
Fully.
Who knows with such an
Inconsistently predictable being?

As long as you are at the center of the earth
Or the edge of the universe,
Hell will never enter your existence,
Your experience.
Once, flaws embrace, sin sought with haste,
You can reject disgrace, attack commonplace,
But all were misplaced,

Without a trace.
Disappear.
Without fear.
Now,It is worth anything.
Other than avoiding fate.
It is never too late.

Face the sense evidence:
A blade of grass, a tender touch, a slice of sky,
One piece of sand holds billions of lives,
However fleeting, however insignificant,
All unending, all replicants.
The warm sun embraces your face’s unstable, tedious nature;
The earth steps on you as erratically as your feet follow you instincts;
The wind refuses to help you succeed in life
Except for a nice breeze;
The stars shine for your hope, for your passion
But they flicker.

The universe is relative –
Shocked crystal glass shards shared
Among the blissful crowd abusing the floor
With their tranced feet and ceaseless beat.

Or
Blissless Hypnosis,
Soul lost, listless,
Embracing shears and splinters
Of sneers and tears.
They merely bicker and snicker,
Trade fingerpoints and lies,
But forgive in time-
Who can bear to live alone?
And so, they retreat,
Return to the white strings of
Existence;
They compete
On who can fabricate a better
Phantom sheet.

Or
Slash the shoelace ties,
Fraternal, maternal,
Return all the beats, rhythms, revisions,
Riffs, myths, cysts.
Live on inflated lifeboats shrouded in mist.

Your haunting, taunting dark amethyst eyes with
Decorations of admiration exist:

As strong as –
As special as –
As much as –
As harmless as –
As constant as –

A grey, limp piece of neck string,
An empty swing,
A melancholy molecule of water dripping,
A monarch armed with thorn swords on its wings,
All of the things
Arbitrary and inconsistent
As existence.

The universe laughs at individuality,
The stars sob, pitying those persistent dancers
Who stomp their feet on sheets of glass.

The hypnotist smirked,
Phantoms never could resist the redundancyOf hell.

A pool with no walls in
An ocean with no souls
Has no choice.
Fate is the tyrant,
The trident even Poseidon controls not.

You cannot drown if you’ve never breathed air.
“Be no one like everyone,”
She laughs, “Equality 7-2521.”
My mouth remains frozen in the frown,
Brows furrowed down.

Disgusted by sheep, I never wear wool.
The fibers stick, ****, suffocate,
Even when dry.
No one else minds it. In fact,
They say “baa” and wear the same masks.

“Bah,” I mutter into ripples.
Witness myself in reflection, introspection,
Retrospection: the id is omniscient;
Individuals are conventional, rarely exceptional;
Explanations are like Time,

They wound and heal.
Truth is disposable, honesty opposable.
Disillusionment is discovery,
Disgusting, discarding, disregarding,
Disblahblahbinizing.

Splash the water, pause the thought process.
Steal fate’s trident, bend it
Into a bubble wand.
When dawn dawns,
Daintily dip the stick in.

A big, blue bubble is born
With each breath, with each blow.
I enter the bubble, in peaceful pace,
Gently lay down,
Knees kiss my face.

Sigh with relief, rebirth, rediscovery.
The ultimate revolution ending
In victory,
In magnificent realizations,
In my last gasp.

A Moth rests on your nose for your solace,
Disoriented by anxious breaths instead.
Still your lungs.
Postpone your life for another’s,
an insect that lives for an average of three days is worth
more than you of eighty years.
It has less time to live and
So is forced to live each nanosecond as its minute.
Hold your breath for a second and give it thousands of moments
To study the purpose of your pores, the nature of your nostrils, the message of your mouth.
It is a blessing that one who has such a blink of a life should choose you.
Its tentative, exploring antennae acknowledge your existence
For that moment
You are its universe.
You
Are the mountains, and underwater caves, the forests, the savannah, the tundra, the planets.

You
Are the suffocating suburbia, the twitchy towns, the neglected neighborhoods, the seductive cities.
You
Are sighing waterfalls, lighthearted hills, free-spirited skies, heartwarming dreams.
If god was the universe,
Then you’re set for heaven.

Except

The Moth flies away
Leaving you to take its place.