THE LINGERING STILLNESS
the lingering stillness i feel from men
is in their hesitation to begin;
the tripping, the unquoted question of manners held,
whose manners are whose?, with no intention to Offend.
when Offense is the directive,
the Challenge is more the Question;
and fine-ness is replaced by finesse;
trying to ask, but without a Direction.
One on one, in interplay;
there whispers a tip-top underneath.
Whose manners are correct is anyone's guess,
so wherein lies a demeanor of respect, or belief?
Heaven only knows what will be thrust at us next,
so I guess we must always consider the Source.
the Aim, the Claim, to Further? or Defame?
have your heart anywhere, but know the Course.
Immediancy is only Neediency;
panic, frantic, oft-said means surely means-so.
it's like teenagers, whispering in twilight games;
where it ends, is by how it Goes.
Tee-hee, it's just me, is Motive, underneath,
with nothing sacred, nothing special for Savor.
without impetus of long-run fruits to achieve,
the question will answer itself ~Later.
To look from begin speaks Aim, from within;
to gather, instead of scatter about.
Who is afraid of Whom?, is the unspoken question,
but the Anwer lays within the acceptance of Doubt.
Crises themselves serve their own purpose;
they might begin somewhere, but they never end.
Tap into any one you favor,
it will yield exactly what you spend.
The safety net of Familiarity
is like a linked-arm march of Legion, by belief:
“We Don't Stop For Nobody” is just a game;
like ranks of Children; who'll be the Sidewalk's Chief?
But to take each, in turn, is how we learn
our strengths and shynesses, by each the Other's ways.
it's only turf, and there's nothing worse
than losing the growth whose worth is spelled out in this vein.
Graphic: Girl On Swing,
by Dmitry Heumann