Illusion Keeps Appearing: We Desire The Unconditional

with best friends comes leniency. with trauma comes needs. i need you to love me by preference. i come by raft, through a ravine, feeding the vulture inside. it’s tamed by you. another at our pains, the xylophone’s abuse, watching PTSD exacerbated. two tambourines, pulsating into a toothache, thirsting for more sorrow. we wonder how attraction becomes tolerant, or intolerant, with secrets seeming heinous and incredible. by the hex of the beloved, roles change, i might need her—for the world has vetoed her. i’m trying to locate space, a crevice, in skies, on earth, beyond both; an ingredient … it will hurt me … but then i will be a poet. Jada is Will, Will is Jada, most can’t understand; to love one, devoted to one, despite the myriad love affairs. something’s in the winds, snails are painting murals, saints and sinners are floating on high. no one will unlock it. they will call it fear. they will call it a lose of hope. in defining another, i will see myself—i will learn to debate my point of view. in saying what i’d never tolerate, i will see what normal looks like, i will come to slant perception—in searching for an ideal. in passing by nature, it will reach for me, i will desire to consecrate non-condition.