(off the trail, off the track)
all the little particles of matter,
what do exactly, here, they form?
something quite unusually unusual,
someone here beyond the realms
of "the norm"
shadows of a stranger, forming
steps towards the winds, fate, storming
brewing, building, bursting through
all it was, i thought i knew
sight askew, as "slightly off"
different stations, different troughs
that we feed and drink, ordained
some here laughing, some in pain
different avenues, different streets
different thread counts, stated,
that we hop in, "jump in the sack"
some claw pillows, preyed,
while some, their beds made
latest lover, while love, it fades
it's a bitch, a burden, a becoming
to wake up, aged,
never "making the grade"
unless "f" is for fabulous,
"d", is divine
"c" is for caring,
"b", the heart bleed, hope, "be mine"
and "a", is the last,
in this reverse, universe
"a" is for the apathy, averse
to recognizing, in deep empathy,
to "get too close"
to the fire, the flame
an enmeshment, entwinement
for far too many, this state unknown
or acted, as if on a stage, all a game
boundaries of belief,
crossed over into twilight
nuance of noir, filmed, so framed
monochrome, black and white
"the zone", it convenes,
"is it you or is it me?"
and so he walks, ever onward, alone
unable to stop thinking, feeling
as the words, they flood,
then fade, to remind him
the search, it seems,
is his only way, wayward
forward, vision of home.
bowen hart roselli
7 december 2020
the realm of the poetic.
prisoner of the psyche and the inescapable. heart.