art // action

it is torturously paradoxical

the way that we think

we have few memories that do not appear

as fever dreams, yet

every breath is laden with nostalgia

cowardly -

we crave the viscera,

to eat the entrails of life

we long for death in flashes

so romanticized that at the door of real suicide,

            - genuine action! -

we are too skeptical to feel

too indolent to incite real change

 

we succumb to our

            d r i f t i n g

                        w a y s

and recuperate

by watching the leaves gently decouple from their parental home

and fantasizing that we too are sinking smoothly

on the breath of the late afternoon

coming to the most peaceful, gliding rest

on the silken surface of the water below

this is our dream:

respite

 

in these moments we try to lessen the tension

in our body

we convince our self we can observe

we convince our self

self-deception is telling ourselves

that we envy the leaf

when the sneaking, dark-water wave inside us knows

we want to be the viscera,

the teeth