Silo

i've kicked so many parties
just knowing who who I am might be.
things I learn
that I let go of maybe
are not in compliment with what I think I can.
I think I can and am being
owned, groaning against the
grainy suburban slate at sunset. and
if you are still under there, I can write for you.
we are all dissent, I stand
somewhere between protections.
I perceive my pain to be sordid. that of others,
becomes the marker. how did I
create this, slyly, structured by all my attemptings.
I do think I disagree with the ground,
neither can know how to own it, even what
we use is less ours afterward.
there must be a preliminary consideration:
our internalizations need to be known
for their suspension. Say it, situational existence.
any passing thing plodding comes
out of me-- I need to know there's
a reason you're here. I get
trapped up in the flexibility of some and
I can only fly with certain birds.
and in times of realizations like these, I search
through heroes and the helpless, seek out if I am
solely the course to seeing a conflict. of course not.
but there is a certain belief
about balances; they'll always
be, there's a mystery to them, like
need, like law like innocence