• a r e t é •

the feeling of crushing something

my person

the lapping saliva

off a tongue

if the world were truly

apart from the mind

our imaginings of it

could only be considered

as an exquisite poem

but it's not only.

there is something stubborn

in this universe

the world as i see it is the poem

the human hive mind

upon my plate

upon my country

cut in half

empty apparitions

waltzing on the forest floor

draped in purple

and an abalone laced

cut it all down.

from empty soils

yet i sit, under this willow, preoccupied

my roots growing toward my canopy

perhaps when they meet i will roll whimsically

as a dry tumbleweed

the barrier is there --

beside

the miming chiming proletariat

shouting soliloquies under their breath

under their breast,

bereft

with nothing left -