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I have to get my mind around
a thing that isn’t there
to figure it out
and write it down
It can no longer pretend to be not there
it is something
pretending to be nothing
an insolent and disrespectful feign
Faith not proof
fiction and truth
messy preambles
time made edifices
It silently denies its existence
while still Minhirs cite
standing as a mystery
rakish
Such proximity
begs examination
setoff
I, virgate - it, a shade
But it has no depth
there is no width
there is no height
it takes up no space
Yet it torments me
unruly whiffle
a willy-nilly construct
challenging me to give it form
On me the raison d’etre
incommodious
insistent
Liebnizian
ken lehnig(c)2011
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Why is doing what you love the hardest thing to do? Is it because failing what you thought defined you would be too devastating a thing from which to recover? If so, we stay where mere accident has left us.
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Preservation Hall
