We can’t know what travails assail.
Sentient beings obfuscate. Unfamiliar
perfumes may arrest: leave trails;
eyes may hint at lies – and sometimes
there is no surprise: nothing urgent
seems to stir beyond the breathing shape
of general expectancy. But oh! – detect
the mission underneath the skin: the thing
we don’t know, burbling a decision
from within – watch the apparatus
of a driven body come to life and undergo
the friction and the fission of intention –
move a little closer to the darkness
or the light: dramas idle, then burn bright –
if virtually out of sight. Let’s sidle down
the street: imagine what we’ll meet.
.
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