no humility in knowing

is this really a tale of 2 halves? the first is for the streets, although I mixed myself with the promise of better, and stood still, shaken then dropped, one perfect egg, rolled to a boil. I can’t explain at all, the way a theory speaks to me. it’s like something I knew, not at all brand new. the conscious aspect of an ever adapting ego, the mark of character in personality, no persona. I’ve left nothing to stain, red jacket, white tie, bird shit on these pages, no persona.

a thought to represent, is breaking open the bag. left here to my humility, define it absolute, late night like this, a warm handshake away, a muttered beloved away, one counted breath away, from that good life, played longer than before. so I wear this ugliness, a carpet shark piled on the pillows in my bed. one more thought to represent, essentially marked, an archetype, new mindset, not new, but finally arrived.

a shadow in the hand, and it’s possessed this way, in the grasp as close as the moon. as close as a walk to the past, a recorded time no image in mind. and maybe that is freedom, the faded image, the absence of doubt, something different than love, and that’s ok. love is in the collective unconscious, ambitious as a simple look into the eyes, the parting of lips and the naming of blessings, awakened in the exhaustion of our bonding. no more tears, ain’t nobody born perfect, never knowing who we…