Speckling Trauma

a smaller problem, more rights, freedom to swim oceans. a warm bath, like baptism, mother’s eyes inside. gifted. a penalty. whether blessed or cursed.

neurons firing, a sky opening, angels coming down; feel like me, understand the boundaries, one will never see the hidden person.

shaped or shapeless, broken wings, dragging a sixty-three Impala; hoping to unite, finding beauty in her, so often to have passed out; the epitome is love, so hard to claim, it seems an ideal.  

can’t explain it. not sure how it occurred. way over there, they have terms, they have obedience, they’ve submitted to the terms of the ideal.

many filaments, linking particles, the world is filled with outlaws. such fatigue, much more pain, trying to keep a smile. amazed about essence, so long falling, a hand helping me up.

a small vestige of passion, a smaller grain of love, it seems most are cruising forgiveness; here, there, or totally indifferent to anything.

many like a normal look, a normal home, an olden ideal.

some are struggling, parents did a number on us, either trying to embrace society, or repudiating society. either way, some element is without balance.

an aesthetic, a gallery of pictures, a room colored by her scent. a museum, the fire of rain, something too peaceful to be so wild. another paradox.

at cellular responses, exchanging woes, sharing in a mighty explanation. more at it, more accomplished, suitable for any circle—a true winner, filled with pain, laughing with observation—the gut of the woman, the brains of the octopus, the teethe of the shark; sexual essence, sensuous molecules, fighting against grandiosity; mood disorders, never to understand, reasoning made denial—or speculating over trauma.