we often fly on the wings of flawed.
we often leap from uneven legs of launch.
we often say what is just surface in passing.
we walk on destiny's path
way before the snow melt has passed.
we often become the subject
of our own subjectivity.
we are magically mundane about it all.
contemporary is only noticed
as the out-breath
in a cold environmental moment.
we are blessed with bewilderment
as the next in-breath taken.
we wish to be served outlandish
with seasonings of ridiculous and absurd,
using implausibles to feed our faces of it.
then to the chew of vastness,
with the saliva of inquiry finding way.
yet can any of us swallow,
what we don't cognitively know?
we are not wanting to be the profession
of hurting feelings,
as if human ignorance is a career choice made.
we are always asking for evidence,
as if a popular form of prayer.
do we all have, in some form,
human psyche all over our unmasked face?
so what if the cutting edge
is actually a tear,
as an aperture of a human, being,
forcefully pulled apart?
so where will the ability of depth take us?
and how does our featuring falsely frame?
can we ever have it as phenomenally mundane?
will awe ever be a comeback as a yawn?
why does our experience seek placidness?
intelligence is not a position of laurels resting.
knowledge is only a mirror's after-affect.
will emotion ever take an unrelinquished lead,
never to be again vanquished
into inner world chores?
are we, in a sense,
victims of our adherence
to the know of protocol?
are we only self-vicarious by nature?
when did we collectively decide
that every moment is only transient by means?
uncertainty, as if angels in the wings
are waiting on our every conclusion made.
what if tolerance was a wisdom,
only seconds in front of
the oncoming of now?
there is an economy to being,
without washing instructions
or a listing of spare parts.
for we, in the company of we,
are the absentia of our beingness,
always in search of our presence,
to be ever modified . . .
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