an obvious truth in a sea of spoken haze

Even we, even you

will never discover it all. but trust me

{you don’t} I know

what I’m made of.

Not fragile gold and unbroken bones

not blood-lined skin like timid stone,

but rosepetals

and soundsilk

glittering memoirs, captured

moments and waitings and writings all in light:

a kaleidoscope

undecipherable and unseen

and I am bound to this heart

of glimmering color by truth,

truth not lies or perception, what a pity such a pity she says


with her eyes. Here’s a secret

you’ve known:



<i am i am i am…!>

There’s always been an infinite

field of rain, an ocean

of sunlights; waves and reeds

and clouds of my pasts, growing

and withering there in arcs of timeless years

as I go unnoticed.


That’s all I am there;


that’s right I said it:


I am

not what you believe me to be.

I don’t shape to the mold finely worked by decades and certificates

I don’t fit to your inferences, don’t compromise to better serve

your interfaces. I don’t because that’s not

what kaleidoscopes are meant for:

they’re meant to

shift and shine and enthrall and confuse

impeccably broken at each change


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