Poems and Writings of 2019

17th of April - The Dance

So as to adjust

The kind of blur

That is the mistake of being,

I long to set up a dance.

To choreograph a piece that matches the air perhaps.

Or matches the fire that is inside the earth.

Or matches my heart, the blood in my heart,

Or all of that.

Like a sleek line, this movement bends to keep itself straight.

It is a pattern that neutralises those fly-aways

Mathematically

Maybe it is the representation of a prime number?

That falls down like a tower

In a buoyant line

To meet the earth simultaneously;

Falling into sequential, not quiet exponential, divets ready laid.

But this is not the guilty human wanting to neutralise his existence!

This is the human wanting to be the angel.

It could be to move one's molecules to achieve spontaneous-combustion.

But it is not.

It is the opposite of that.

It could be the human-rock turning itself,

By the inversion of its molecules,

Into crystal.

Or a flower bud that comes from nowhere.

Or the human-moth fluttering toward the moon.

It could be one of those things:

I do not know I am not a scientist.

I am an instinctualist; as we all are.

And so I am desiring to move so that the earth sighs.

It breaths out. It says; 'this'.

I mean to move in a line so straight that it darts and twists

(Matching the particles within it).

As they vibrate, I will still them,

But only just the right amount,

So they gently rock.

And this movement will be like consciousness,

That spontaneous flower of the mammalian brain.

This movement will understand the things we know,

Our intricate engineering,

But cannot know,

In the emotiveness of our semi-logical minds.