I am only every moment

My every moment is asterisked

without exception

by human’s referential world.

I am further set aside

by an advocate of and for them

that intercedes on my behalf,

and a social network

of representationals

who will orient and leverage

to fill me as a projection

and pretend my current

second to second status.

It is as if

my agent is meeting with your agent,

my broker conferring with yours.

Yet I am as dormant

as a garden bulb

in an endless season

between winter and spring.

I am then the burlap

over inner conversations

often muted to myself in passing

and basically unheard

by other moments in their passing.

I am layers removed

from the surface of sunlight stimulation

and the face of earth

stares back at me in my essence

as if I am a decomposing billboard

underground in passing.

They have dressed me up

in inference and implication,

and refer to me

by vacant and sketchy memory

as coming back to belonging here.

I dry-lick at the air near by

in hopes of the impending

through a state of expressive permission,

but in other scattered moments,

I am only an isolated beach

within an hourglass of you.

The repetition of these grains

as perceived in bottleneck passage

only instills monotony’s ceaseless act.

I am a burning candle

in a sightless style

where by the life among shadows

infers un-confirmable truths.

Messages do come

but not hand delivered

yet mutely displayed in the shades

of darkness before and after me

in solemn and silent passing.

I am the innocent hands

of a mischievous child

in mittens of restraint,

shaking the hand of every human,

maybe sometimes it will be yours

in well-meaning mittens in return,

for the mouths of our hands

are gagged and bound

in attempts to

reach out to each other’s.

We are always ships departing

yet looking back for response

to cut through this curtain of time.

I know of spirit to spark and ignite

towards where there is a life-path

besieged by opportunity’s mirth,

yet when for now, my ever now,

there is only the flood basin

of expectation in representation

and the gut check

of a potential symbolic transference.

I come at you as spattered blood.

I am never dry to that task.

If I was bludgeoned

then know of me as seconds passing

by the fading body heat

and close quarters, still in the air.

If instead I am dripping

of vital juices

far beneath the spatter

then call up your spirit through me

and raise your eyes towards that source.

Even a timely glance may have the force

to set me free to assists you.

Please, send no sympathy

as your agent

that trick has been tried before.

Send me soulful kinship aligned.

Send me the D.N.A.

of how and when

you were lead into the light through me.

Laugh out loud to break the curse

of a well rehearse reality on demand

as I have fallen through

the mesmerizing cracks

to only resemble to you what I miss.

I am thirsty for an in-breath

of steep waterfall or thick forest air.

I am as starved as a recycle dump

for native ground to present me.

I am as heavenly as any religion

could invent for its future,

but I am only every moment,

displaced by symbology,

by the load bearing momentum

of symbolic animated gestures

crawling inside of you as me,

mutely through

this laborious measure called time.

Yet, and freshly so,

I am only, as you refer to me,

your every moment,

basking in your presence

and yet, constantly bathing you . . .