feelings as unsharable folklore

our culture is heresy to the heart. 

the self only has blame 

as a measuring means

for how distant objectification really works.

whatever is said 

is in indecipherable emotional code

but dressed up in the currency 

of topic presented.

there is an unevenness to being 

that spills into reaction.

we are on the train of the collective 

in activity-speak

but function only as riders 

with personal concerns.

notoriety is used as a filler 

for when boredom occurs.

most of our lives 

we are in audience-cued replies. 

few have original lines 

and less the timing to say them.

I have learned to use details as pacifiers 

for my original thought's 

emotional reaction.

my initial feeling-response is a ladle, 

larger then the serving bowl of topic

and so I sip and slurp, dally and lollygag.

if I had silence speak for me,

procrastination would have 

a mouthful to say.

if I have a brushstroke live my life fully,

I experience myself as a one-hair bush,

flooding with intent 

on a canvass without borders.

I experience spillage 

as a deeper honesty in action.

saying something beyond 

the fix of understanding

but valid in the ongoing 

of circumstance as reveal.

what world is that 

if meaning is your solution?

I don't want to live 

into the fabric of context.

there is nuance out there, 

starving for words to come,

but it's a broadway show 

that can never have audience.

thus it is pointless to produce 

for approval or profit.

it is the subtlety that lives 

on the slights of animation

without the enterprise of saying 

or intention of show.

some will grok while others invest 

in the no-show.

culture is a lot of blanket-weighty 

but lacking in lay-inside-of 

and feel the warmth.

but maybe it's just me, 

having feelings as unsharable folklore . . .