grief can start,
as if a plane ride away from it.
but the elevation, as a rush,
is towards shock and conclusionary recovery,
and will eventually find a morbid landing.
even then a car ride of distraction
only feeds the eventual festering.
grief can blot out the sun,
make travel into a blundering.
muttering becomes an emotional language spoken,
to be self heard.
a map of the mind-world
becomes dead end streets,
where nothing mentally motorized is going on,
where need can be a compulsion, passively taken.
a walk in the wilderness of emotions,
that is what is forthcoming,
as moonless nights of emotional passage.
destination is a false front of purpose.
there is quicksand in next thoughts oncoming.
dirge is every melody in earshot range.
weep has its own pace of passage.
light in dark places reveals shadows that murmur.
memories all appear colorfully in black and whites.
tears are coming from an inner river.
there is no conversation to be had,
only utterances that fly out of dark clouds.
agony takes a complexion stance.
heartache is a symptomatic necessity.
animation functions as a willowy despondency.
time is sludge as mime.
each breath in is heavy lifting.
sighs have no weight-bearing affect towards transform.
any self listening is a sponge effort at soaking up,
but the grief outflow continues.
this is what emotional tattoos are made of.
and it is a slow process of application
once the image has come to mind . . .
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