Member Rara Avis
Is imperfection tolerable? I wonder this as I
question the level of flaw
contrived smiles communicate…
I’m more than a statue,
my eyes blink profusely and
are coloured in light,
they’re motionless only when dreaming –
a rapid-eyed contradiction -
and I shift in the lie my body
creates when walking with the tilt
of radiance, and the stares…
impenetrable beneath the surface of
cloth and skin, to the element in I,
I don’t carry the weight of beauty in my mind.
I’m assigned the outer collectivity
of poise, the vertical sweep of
assessment with a stamp of approval
and I think.
Thoughts don’t mark paths well – they
quaver with truth
and desire, more desire than a man’s urge.
I’m postured…straight…they never seek the morning
rise, the dishevel of unwell or the curl
I develop in the night, legs flung and arms askew…
substantiated, is beauty in the sway of hip
or the stance of real?
The wind shifts like this:
Like a human without illusions...
This is how the wind shifts:
Like a human, heavy and heavy,
Who does not care.
[This message has been edited by Severn (edited 11-07-2000).]