my neural hypothesis 3

to stumble down a gray, burnt sidewalk. a mild august morning breeze. a gentle drizzle. pitter-patter. fourteen cars race past you, and come to a screech at the bold red. they seem asleep, motors whirring, keys ringing, heads bobbing, eyes blinking, and a pause. the water drops smile and rush to a tar, cold heart stone. the manhattan lights, shimmer and dim. glow and blow, rhythmic, jarring and irrational. coughing, a little. quivering with the smell of fifteen hiccups. a lady staggers past. mid-72, orange hair. eyelashes, red. burnt beige sweater, with a sagging breast. other, invisible. prominent nipples piercing through a woolen wall. you, surrounded by a queer aroma of old age, melancholy and haste. a paternal chastity, and purity of your longing. you look at her, half-rainy, half-foggy and create a broken narrative. as it plays in my mind, every odd micron. microsecond and minute. a woven spool of story times and epithets. of cotton birth and stillness. of a brutal handicap. of a waving miscarriage, awry and demented. of a nervous fortune, of a gentle braid. choreographed in my centennials, my perennials, and dead cellulitis cocoon brain. of an unnatural perturbation of lifeless families, of dead dreams and wring trills, of vanish and hope. of a beseeching diamond pond, bedazzled, glittering. post-sweat syndromes and intrusive fatigue. to break, slowly, under the burden of ideal happiness. to what poetry does your target happiness come to completion? in tears, song, frustration and violence. or a meager solitude of calmness, infused with puppetry. in a narrow, raunchy composure of giving in to the gift, the ultimate composure of success, surfeit, and liberation.  

if only i could be as happy as you. ringing in your blood, an architect of comparison. if only you could love. yourself or your ego? your image or your shrine? your passion or my idea? in composition of the piecemeal destiny, of a relational superlative, to feel defeated under the vision of a parallel narrative of fundamentals. hypothesized in my neural tones, why am i dismissed? of a self, of shroud, of beast and counter-points of an intuitive human algorithm. unmatched and bitter, you contradict the pedestal of a generation of lives, of a panoply of values, of an exposure of your weakness. to hide in fear of vulnerability, to build walls of brick, and machinate a happiness, is to be an independent certain. with the power curative, the self-prescriptive, empowered non-native, this is the reality of your day and night. to live, like a feather doll, is to bend to an uncertain, stoic humility -none of which you deserve, preserve or spill.