April 22, 2015 - 19:04
Blanketing obscurity
scrutinizing my insecurities.
Everything smells moist.
Why are our roots, ourstory not voiced?
Pine and cinnamon circling my nose
my confusions and discomfort I cannot fully disclose.
Reforming in the embedding, moist leaves,
the branching flux interweaves.
Sheltered by interlocking lacework
protection, maneuvering the perpetual networks.
Green bulbs on sprouting trees
accountability and purpose kindle my unease.
Disconcerted in the known
our responsibility, the interconnections, I must postpone.
Struggling, craving to feel
unconscious searching I conceal.
Crossing, fluctuating inhibitions
invasive limbs changing conditions.
Titles becloud the spectacle
trusting limits, our roots intentional.
The essence of displacement
in our severed relationships, I am complacent.
What I can not see, failing to perceive what I lay open
Receptive and vulnerable I desire to be in motion.
Digging into the raw nakedness I am uninsured
Seeking to penetrate the negative, minus, invade the obscured.
How can we conceptualize what we are convinced we do not know? Why have I never left this bench? So comfortable and grateful for validation. How do we build trust and connections with what we know has limits, end points, finalities?