Speculation and Introspection
     Predatory Skills Possess
               You Are The Prey

I'm told the sky is blue.
God is dead.
Lead is heavier than cotton.
I'm not convinced I know where the sky starts.
You need proof, like a birth certificate, to be declared dead.
Cotton and lead can both weigh a gram or a tonne.
So, my conundrum... how do I write about what I know.
My name is Francie. I have a birth certificate, and it's yellowing...fast.
Whatever comes after this is pure speculation.
However, our opinions are weighed
With equations and laws. Laws.
There's a thumb on the scales.
Reason is subjective. Water is wet... warm... hard... vaporous... dry...
I can write about death, while I'm alive, believing in it.
My forehead is bleeding from pounding my lack of truths into verse
For readers to think of the possible, for certain.

My hands above my head,
I grasp for purpose,
and pull the Sun to my chest.

Circles become arbitrary.
Squares, the cousins of
rectangles are discredited as
man-made. That's why metaphors
known as squares are seen as
vulnerable shapes in a misunderstood spectrum.
They are dotted lines
dependent on right angles,
left ashtray to explain anomalies.

So for order we justify lines.
We contain music within them.
Until, of course, the Holy Ghost
is found. Because that strike
against the canvas is thought
to be premeditated.

But that isn't human nature.
That isn't God.
It will only become recorded
notes on a page.
It's retrospect.
A future remembrance of the past.
It's the Sun in your heart,
knowing that containing that
kind of energy is hazardous
to your health.

Our reason is soon tested
By germs of gas
As we softly seethe among the flames
The nightmares of our pasts will awake
To hunt us through our older haunts

The death of our hearts soothes
The dearth of our souls
We lie
Drunk, unable to lie

In truth is ruth, but also
Joy
Maybe suffering is first, or truth
Second

Because the poem is another
Of my seeds
Another to grow into mushrooms
Of inhaled gas.

So hot that it melts me
and me,
not in a foundry, but
in an open place

it's like a fireplace

a river of sweat rolling down my face,
not on its way to some serenity at sea
it's
just

soaking me.

and now the ice lolly
I thought would be jolly has
dropped clean off the stick

making me sticky

I lick me
it tastes of strawberry.

Man feels like a snowman i
melt
let me go man
so hot

and now a spot in the shade of a tree
I
think a dog started ******* on me

no rest for the wicked.

Do you love me
The way I love you?

Do you love me
The way I love the air I breathe?
Always sweeter when you are near

Do you love me
Across the distance?
No matter how far

Do you love me
The way I love your laugh
your smile
your eyes
your voice
your touch

Could you?
Could you love me
As much as I love you?

I was never satisfied with being the observer
or the healer
I wanted to be healed
I wanted to be fun to watch like the many people I observed and loved at a distance
I had a habit of seeing things from one set of eyes only
I tried on different masks
I felt lonely
I felt numb
There was nothing to me
except speculation
But I pushed this away
It only came in between helping others
I used to think I lost myself in guiding others
But I had never found myself in the first place

Reflective states would come in waves
But I had forgotten how to swim
The day I fell into the sea

It may have been a river
But I couldn’t tell
Because I was just a pebble