Which came first, the mind or reality?
They live in each other.
But one should not be measured
This is often pre-determined,
as all things original are.
The environment is only a factor
after the facts or:
one must be born to be mutated.
But with everything's purpose this is hard to see.
Nothing would be what it weren't if not
for it being something.
Try again, and you will misunderstand.
Because inherently understanding means
standing, and what do you know if you
But beauty isn't here...
It exists there. In the moments rubbed
curved at the edges from too much
In the words held close and etched
in magic-marker on the sidewalk,
needled into one's inked-in-skin, hopscotch spilled
on pavement meant to jump through,
do not stop to look back because
the notes on the back of your hands
are worthless. You already
Company that expects you, unquestioningly.
A friendly ear that remains piercingly close,
always ready for more, never prepared for
your departure though they've heard it
many times before. A welcome at the gate,
before you’re realized that you’re back again,
before the familiar scents have reached their contentment
on your eyelash and the night lingers as if
you never left it. As though it was waiting for you,
and it was.
These conflict sometimes with the less-
imaginable. A slap on the face. An empty
chair and message box. The face that forgets.
The face that doesn’t. Not because it can’t.
Goals never keep
longer than the dust piling,
the sheets, swept. Promises unfulfilled and
never heard from again. An airplane floating
away from your thoughts, then crashing somewhere,
never thought of again.
The feet walk on, through the sea, to find
their answerable shoes, or fins.
And yet there is a sea to walk past,
or to float above.