back at ya

I seem to have succumbed 

to the condemnation of conclusions, 

a residence of opinions in resolve,

a quick study of preview 

and then either glib or gloom, 

in internal remarks made.

nothing of in-depth-interest in passing,

just dismissal as a readied response,

as a kind of introvert self-feedback

to external circumstance in passing.

no genuine interest, 

either in curiosity or surmise.

wanting mood dominance to pervade

and persuade each potential topic into passing.

wanting a language base

that speaks to mood that is override residing. 

not sure what mood wants to say,

but it does not want to be interrupted.

no depth in discovery present,

just reactiveness abounds.

mood is of emotion's jeep,

stuck in the mud of the moment

and not interest in goal or travel.

just a need for some overriding circumstance 

showing presence.

maybe it is the weather of feelings,

as some shift unsourced but dominant. 

it's kind of drizzle raining 

but unnamed as a storm,

just a procession of dreariness proceeding.

it's got its own thickness to endure.

can't talk my way out of this.

the voice tone is unmoved by topic

and I don't seem to be able 

to listen internally deep enough

to hear who of me is speaking

and from where within this is at source. 

just passive grimness presenting

to every external interactional exchange.

even an ambush of fresh flowers

would only cause a further fatigue in response.

somehow I have missed the excitement potential

of the moment in passing.

I have preoccupation yet nothing is named,

under siege from an unknown internal source,

can't embrace myself about it.

it's all too one-sided 

in a first person witness stance.

need a dance floor of awakening to arrive.

something so spontaneous 

that self is fundamentally shifted,

as if emotionally chiropractic

in the knead of a sunny day's entry.

a sense of humanity 

as a collective, once again.

yes, there is clearly a sense of isolation, 

talking to itself and not really listening.

just venting but over what?

some rudeness of reality has been experienced.

no turn the other check capacity available.

just the reread of the book on passive aggressive,

done in a privacy,

yet somehow in mind-filled silence.

even a deep sigh 

offers no second language alternative.

mood has to walk this out, 

until boredom finds a trail to inner sight.

each moment now has to present as cathartic,

as a self conversation 

finds a topic with grip appeal.

curiosity has to take up the gait.

wonder has to impose, 

as a secondary response.

one has to overhear, 

as if listening is invitational

and mood is back to being widespread inclusive.

tasks have to take up melody from the surround,

as in-breath has to become inviting.

a closet full of conclusions, 

is not the wardrobe to wear.

at least talking to myself,

as a second person helps.

you'd think I was positively schizophrenic 

and yet that really helps.

back at ya,

and I was really only talking to myself,

what you inadvertently were close enough 

to hear . . .