Bricklaying

Extend, having a shape
What geometry does the self obey
Scattered dots in the snow
And I don’t know if essence is in their existence,
Their constructs, their absence, their disagreements,
Their interspaces, their mutterings, their rollings,
Their ways of organising and patterning I can’t envision
Some move to seek closure, some for the antonym or continuation
Take uninterrupted suspire, control it,
Make it sexual, shout at it and yet it still slithers and slips
Aloneness crawling the rungs in the ladder
You send your ghosts to spy on me
Observed through the past I mirror it
Wistfulness
Sounding like an old disease
A dizzy feeling, untimely rejection
Premature labour and birth
Clinging, to dark shapes in the wavering lodges
In the watering columns that forebode praxis
Aberrations in the squiggles on a transept:
The calamity of continuity, the horror of shocks
Infirm, inerm, inert, grasp on a neck
Right hand, left hand, battling for cores
Traversing fleshy bulbous tendrils
It’s physical, and yet empty-handed,
It’s all in my mind, it’s all in your mind
Choking tensions go unbroken,
Gothic lures of pasts, metaideas and metaphors to explain

Ultimately, the ultraconnection is all that matters

I tend to settle on shapes and images
Forgetting the richness of velvety
Hidden freckles, shy, tender, sungrazed, abandoned
The sweetness of storytelling forbidden by the flow, flooding
Rivers in their ramified paths to a state,
Patronised as messengers because transient between two
Settling on the caricatural misdirections of the unsuggested misguidances
The agonising essence yearns to burn third eyes like a haunting setting Sun
Thrown knife fork glasses, thrown people, buried under an ivory cyst
Cisterns feel the wave rising and the projection of imperfection
Words surface on their own, the wave is a peak and when I feel it it’s already gone,
In the duty to write stands a mulling premonition of lingering sadness

What’s it that I wish would never leave me, while I am preparing my escape
You admonish figurativeness, yet seek familiar, in other realms,
I have seen glaciers in your brown eyes
Our fingertips waggledanced to point and navigate to each other skins echoing bees’ bustle and adoration
How often one goes away and seeks connections to depths
Without realising one’s only standing by a painting of the feeling mind
The clouds passing by are the passing thought of the clouds themselves
I am a metaphor, a note, a symbol, a trope, an implication
I am not because I think but because I radiate,
I am as a riverbed, to let flows through me as they do within me,
I am loving, for love only resides where’s not yet