Emergence and immersion,
re-emergence – and then
slipping back for keeps
into the gruel, no less a fool.
It sleeps, this part of you
which cannot quite affirm the light –
retreats when it becomes too
clarifying. Scarifying fear shames
you with evidence you cannot
fight. It does add drama, though,
this fright. Somewhere, you can’t
remember where, your dreams
got laid away. So you got laid.
You couldn’t sway your terror.
Now there’s always urgent
reason to take flight. But then
the error: slow inveigling glop
stops you instead: you are
lead-heavy in a cauldron
full of existential oatmeal
once again, dropping into mush,
a sinking thing without the last
capacity to push: drowningin too-facile rhyme, and time.
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