Sequence

In the words of others
Framed in the tears of conflict
The bitter gnawing
The grinding of biochemical gears
Has wrought this frame

When the color has been drained
Of what significance Is the painting?
Reduced to a sketch
Reverted to its conceptual architecture
The time unwinding itself
Unto possibility

I echo into your emotions
How you must have felt on that day
so many years ago with me.
I have come to practice that kind of patience
Only to find it does not come
Without its own tense of import.

And I am rendered asunder
Into the depths of-
all that I do not understand
As toxicity rises and falls at the movement of the moon
I know how you feel:
I don’t have time for this.

Devouring my life
Minute by minute
I’ve become detached
And I’ve been trying to suture myself into..
Something.
To little perceivable avail

I suppose it is sorrow
That propels the need to be effortless
As I have inherited the knowledge
I was formerly lacking
Through struggle and strife
only to remain painfully incomplete

Like the smell of colitas
It lies in the experience,
In the dream of this ephemeral life
That I am so grateful
To have shared my time
with you