in a untimely
manner
do they dissipate
those little grasps
onto some thread
needle-thin, really
of a chaotically webbed
reality

(“oh, peter, I don’t think i’ll wish to grow up.”
“then wendy, you can choose not to ever – I mean ever –  leave Neverland.”)

partly
the decreation
to a mutated
version of creation
finds attribution
in those dark little spaces
hollowing
but invisibly so
our soulset, self-deprived,
heart-defying mind

(how little does the
carnal original understand
their philanthropist.)

we slip back and forth
meditating in the trance
fortified from the unruly mess
the repetitive motion
creates
it is undeniably human
to lose count
and one’s self

(- control breathing
– keep awareness over heart rate
– seek sheltered, safe area
– do not, under any circumstances,
give up)

the weight of the living
becomes the novelistic
moralistic
survival instinct
collecting
thinly pulled string
until the inevitable

collapse.

KH