1.3

If I realize I am at rest I will pen a wisp of awkwardness.
To be here and stable is a journey in itself.
If I pass through the rarified doors to inner sanctums of apprehension
I will miss disorders of nature divorced elsewhere

Then let me traverse retraceable motion and go forth
My absence will account for its self importance
So that sudden changes of perspective
Can be pardoned to represent the natural course of a day

Might not furrows and ridges and other distinctions below my feet
Trace mutable paths that undulate reprehensibly
To prevent my fall from innocence would require
A tilt towards heavenly retribution and the open limits

It is insanity to affect an overload of sight through distinct sensations
I will impose around each a blatant boundary
For each little segregation will attract me equally
And I will despair at acting a perennial outlier

If my gaze could collate yet not collide each frame
A stasis would mould itself to blurring motion
But I insist on looking upon action in isolation
It is because I am slow to differ between apparent and self

Then I perceive that the objects of my attention
Could impose biases if aware of my observations
A bush blooms by the side of my transgression
If I blush in its thickets I am merely ornamental

Might an aberration underline the palatable mainstream
Or are my subjects swaying in currents of random misanthropist
Am I disillusionment are they a simple justifiable
I feel big or small but not a natural balance in comparison

It is such potent carnival that swallows separate agnostics
Until gyrating and screeching in throes of a vertiginous mundane
They maintain health, wealth, wise and whelp
But lack an animosity to reason and an antipathy to remorse

If I stay, there will be a flash, rustles and faraway chants, a sidewise glance
I will be seduced by the interminable passage to attraction
Of an understanding acquired on the fringe of all that matters
Will I find myself unequal member of a faceless congregation


Then I can persevere, but to break free from a miasma
That swirls beyond the upper reaches of my stretching fingertips
For I do not want to be within instead of without
Realizing a stray wisp is saner than listening to conversation in Babel