Grated, But In A Pretty Way

This is a photo of my brother and I. His backpack near mine, together I suppose, with ideal plants shaping our personalities with each other and the world. Complete on a road to remain — I love him, you know. 

It looks like he is to remain a little longer. 

But a prospect of slight assurance is coming from another end 

Perhaps crap things happen here so better things can emerge there 

It’s a lesson learned everywhere I suppose, in all tales with rising actions and climaxes. But the resolution isn’t this one 

I want to shape mine, make sure it’s perfect — I need to make sure it was composed of its purpose, all the intelligentsia and deed in tact (I pray he might be back before then) 

Otherwise I pray to meet him in a prettier place — 

My Lord is Merciful and He is Kind. He has blessed me with a girding type of kindness, enveloping, slowly embracing, thank you thank you thank you.

I didn’t think he wasn’t to return sooner, but it’s okay, it has to be okay if I am to fulfill whatever that is, everything I suppose 

No confoundedness. No anxiety. Thank you thank you for the perfect cuts, the bad blood oozes out, it’s not too coagulated, thinning as it leaves the body

The earth shrinks and slows its revolutions

Then it’ll be black and there will be honor

There will be all the honor. 

To Jolt Now Is To Die A Pleasant Death

I have stopped counting the days,

Talks of a husband underwent a resurgence

A teeny tiny vascillation 

So minuscule it’s almost not there 

But it feels nice I suppose as some sort of

Background noise 

Jolt out of a state into another

Out of stagnation into fire

Droplets of blood, charcoal dark

And coagulated 

A cleansing — purifying thing 

There was no pain 

But it was heavy I think, like 

Lead 

I couldn’t move my arms. 

Jolt out of the jolting into a calm 

Good friends and laughs 

I had stopped counting the days, I really did

It was the distraction I wished for from the start 

Only it wasn’t a distraction it was a pacification

The kind I needed not knowing how to desire it — whatever 

I thank my Lord for the jolts

Like slaps of alertness 

Consciousness

He hasn’t returned yet but he will

They’re fighting, I should be with them 

They smiled at me and tightened their fists,

So lovingly told me to be patient,

I will meet with you soon

My heart is waving at this universe that is revolving on an end

A halt fastened with that pixie dust we secretly want to believe actually exists

It does in that sense I suppose, 

It smiles as it eases to its finish

Please come back to me — but I must learn,

I must learn to be patient and to remember my brothers and sisters 

I must jolt that jolt and rest there for a while 

And rest there


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/2017/04/17/jolt/

CWM: “Four, Twenty Five, Twenty Fifteen”

This piece was thought up on April 25, 2015 but originally published November 23, 2015 because it felt germane for the time for some reason. I can’t remember. It has also been prefaced. That’s kind of funny.
Continue reading “CWM: “Four, Twenty Five, Twenty Fifteen””