Dancing
the dance humans call history,
these
next two minutes are cheek to cheek.
My
mind, as with these momentary hands,
delicately
grasps the intimacy of this passing.
These
two records immerse, unchecked,
letting
some recognizant g-force ooze
onto
my screen of experience.
My
blind confidence will see it, name it.
My
solar plexus uneasily yawns at it
exposing
the dark side
of
a wide-eyed cynicism looking through,
though
not wanting to,
and
a mindful penetrative idealism
grasping
at the slightest draws as uplifting.
There
is an apprehensing, a future nausea,
held
down by thicks of my willfulness
readied
to dish out mind-filling lessons
to
be impersonally imprinting on me
with
that "don't-you-ever-forget-this"
inner
voice privately bellowing at me.
But
time chauffeurs my duplicity,
as
these two temporal frames,
cancel
each other's darkness against light.
Silhouettes
fired from the same blaze
as
likenesses of myself,
both
in dialogue as movement,
both
dismissing each other’s fixated poignancy,
yet
in time, living the bliss as the rest . . .
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