i.
you fill yourself up with beauty but sometimes
beauty fills itself up with you; in accepting this
I am trying to close the battle of
honesty versus will, between being skin
and being schemes, between feelings
and their use.
ii.
like an iridescence of beetle rolling misunderstandings
and cruel chats through straw we press our unity
into a perfect sphere, smooth
inviolable
and reminding always of violence
so that once forever in fixed harmony
we can turn and form another
subtractive
perfection
iii.
ugh, just, maybe I need to put myself in a box
to feel all kinds of absence
instead of always pulling presence
when it is too easy to look for things in others
instead of in myself, to close /
stabilize around this organizational
heartbreak I am a need to separate a garden
in which to be seen as beautiful from places
of struggle co
definitional, unfixable and un
be-able nor can I
not be them in the cycles and despair of crumbling
I cling to skill at scrambling
and perhaps this makes a rodeo, talus-busting
scree-surfing mugging
in the churn and struggle; but no
it is no rodeo without a fair ground,
just earth.