there's been a fury of positive energy, up from the hoarding cortex mostly, and it's been stored away for just a time as this season, the days when it gets dark early and obviously, the days when it isn't just cold by kelvin or celcius but by physiology. a time last year when i was downing what the doctors gave me with devices much frowned upon by the labels and status quo (and better judgment). taking things hard and in all the wrong ways, mistaking presence for intent. missing and longing. spurring on beautiful things, yes, but shivering and de-enlisting. it's a different day. i was guilty of misconception. and presently, i can't see this being the same.
i referred to a reaction i had a couple weeks ago, and it was so unbelievable that i could watch myself generate such a complex hive of emotion, and have the clarity to see through it. to have the vision to not sit within it, and let it conspire and devour me and all i've built up out of myself, some great defining line. i was given some possibility, some fraction of time to experience something that i'd been anticipating for months. and when i was finally given the window of time, the quantified measure of the experience, my first reaction was denial and almost a manner of scoffing. not enough, or not as substantial, or not some endless perpetuation. i'm not sure what the expectation had been. and this was something that i'd made certain to appreciate. a volume put aside for an hour when you get an hour. the kind of thing that i'd pause in any event of escape. the match you let burn your fingers.
sneaking out of your room at night,
just one peak.
i couldn't believe i'd let myself get such a negative view on something i'd allowed to come so calmly. the disheartening was over in an hour or so, once the glow settled in.
the window came, it went just as quickly. the air of it rushed out in a gasp.
i remember the commute home. how many pieces i floated together as, some suspension of quartered gravity. i still feel that force humming me from place to place, the hands of clutter that laid me down once i got home.
i relive the shortest of contact,
[her heavy bags on her shoulders]
a brevity drawn in decimalspeak:
[our coats all buttons and ringing]
so short, there is no ending.
the hangers on hanging on,
nanoscopic for the promise of more.
she is fact
had a conversation with dad today.
never shared those kinds of words before.
the idea might be enough inspiration,
but the funding, no small bit of it.