when overwhelm is understated:
operational procedures for eye usage
are in too small of a font to read,
when correct change needed is a pocket-full of lint,
or hairpins, wrappers, stubs, or a cluster of pennies,
when hair is danced all night into a frazzle
while the head itself was buried, churning ‘no’ answers
to the tone of a voice from drive-by dreams,
when the practical world became botched and crumbled
as if weather threw up its hands in disgust and rumbled on,
cursing, using wind as a way of voicing itself in passing,
when “I don’t know where to start” is steadfast given
as the first place of preference repeatedly stated.
When overwhelm is understated is
when the concept of this moment’s handling is dwarfed
by a numbing sensation that attempts to pose
as an adequate response to this instant’s continuance,
when I look to the horizon perplexed
as if it is the fragrance of a rose I can’t identify,
and I can hardly conjure but am deeply enthralled to inhale,
when paradox is a three-dimensional solution
to a coincidence that stampedes with answers to questions
that have not been authored by any sane mind,
when the beauty of the situation
has no comparative truth to it as gaze and wonder
are new found befuddled best of friends,
and lastly, when overwhelm is understated
is when one’s identity, station is life, purpose of living,
all meet up in front of your face to tell you,
‘this moment has no future
yet it came forward without a past’ . . .
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