paralysis
more than anything else:
thinking this is all.

underlying message not that there’s a
beautiful butterfly brushing bluely by
cruel glass cages, this isn’t all about
being caught this is
deeper
and a bit
darker—shudder to think—no, not
shadows. the
shimmering subtlety of
an oil slick on asphalt. much
more a creepycrawler than the idyllicwinged…
in amongst the dirt. and rather at home
—so be it—
but that doesn’t mean…that doesn’t mean…
nothing means…

and this is what i means—meant, of course:
standing in front of you in shadows or sunlight i can’t remember but
too bright no matter what and i stood with arms folded (you had my
math book)
and said calmly there’s no basis for anything
and collapsed a little more but
not enough to be
apparent.

and weeks, weeks later—i can’t stand to be here
i can’t stand to stand here
hating where shoes stepped and where laughs echoed and where everything—
everything—
crowded and slid and ground a little harder and really,
i do think i shall scream…

just as shallow as your exoskeletal oil slicks—
statistically insignificant, pretty as it is.
jumbles of letters absorbed before nine
apply here: o you perfectly elastic, o you aloof, o you ideal.
composure learned and faultless and an absolute must
composure
approaching

paralysis:
this is all there is