Syndrome

Everyone is living

with undisclosed syndromes,

elaborate idiosyncrasies

yet discreetly obscured.

Strings of behavior

dysfunctionally linked

in a hodgepodge

of poorly intended activity.

However the cultural correctness,

the personal need

is in insular override

as an island

of shortsighted subtle displays

without a context

of adequate rationalization.

They suppose it to be

seamlessly themselves

while others

permissively look away

or suppress

what they have heard

or outright ignore

as superficial mannerisms.

Just loose ends

on an otherwise okay person.

But we are all

a procession of syndromes

as private glitches

of self expression,

more revealing

than a lisp or a stutter,

muted within a greater context

of ever-procession.

Tiny red flags afloat

in a self-sea of swirl and flutter.

Too minute to bother with

out loud

but duly noticed.

Because of its repetition

and intimate display,

is this then the material

of uniqueness?

Is this what constitutes

the interaction of bonding

as tolerance

in the adhesive practice

of friendship?

Is this the great glop

of compassion’s yield?