I am the perpetual motion of emotion,
gliding into this and that,
the pure cause of cause and effect.
An endless stream of thought
that pours gloriously into the puddles
of unfulfilled relationships.
Only present to define that
which is coincidentally abstract.
I am the unbiased teeter-totter
swaying from one person's unforeseen moment
to another.
Squeaking the endless chime of speediance,
bearing nothing to my own discourse.
Present, but still destined to be worn
by the winds of time
and the sands of people
that ride my balanced limbs.
I am only who I am,
but what I am is spoken of
more than a myopic parable.
living the letters and syllables
of this poem written on the walls
of my heart.
So melodic, yet cipheric in origin and destination.
To make haste is simply,
simply in bad taste.
Speak of me as a friend,
speak of me as an enemy.
Do not think twice on my perception,
there is a reason behind that curtain.
Look! A man pulling his chains and levers,
pretending to be what he is not.
Think twice. Is that shapeless little man
still there?
Doubt I am, of mercury flying
to its tainted heaven,
only pure in daylight's bath and arbor's shade.
Look again at the cheap façade
I left behind at the last stop.
It's pretty, but then again,
I'm the 13 of hearts.
I heard once that's where it starts.
I heard once and forever never again.
September 24, 1997