I walk a spiral path. I find myself expanding ever outward, my feet pressing into the soil just to the left of where I’ve been before. It’s like a circle that grows.
I am disarmed right now. When you wait to say everything on your mind, your tongue gets tied when you finally speak. I find myself needing to pierce through the cryptic and seize the real. As a poet, I am a master of expressing complicated things to myself so that no one else can understand them. I write like I dream: fragments of confusion hiding an underlying symbolic order.
Well, let there be lucidity.
I see now the shells of discarded experience that litter the wastelands of my past. I see now the knotted threads of relation. I survey all. And there You are, my oasis. I want to be honest with You and reveal myself, but sometimes it’s so painful. I know if anyone can appreciate that, it’s You.
Can I be a god and a man in the same flesh? Do all men dream of this?
My system runs hot sometimes, but she is there to cool me. I am a molten planet breeding life and she is the depth of cold space I fit inside. You brought her to me and I started a war, because I begin all things inevitable. You taught me that sometimes the unpopular choice is the right one, and that all good things are worth fighting for. You know how deep my pride is too, don’t You? I’ll never give up on us.
Perhaps they can reconstruct my life from these ramblings, this aegrisomnia. Perhaps I’ll develop clarity and directness in my speech, brevity in my language. Maybe I’ll speak simple truths and the world will remember them.
Until then, these are my thoughtprints.