the only solace for a coalwalking mind
is to look down & believe
in the immateriality of its feet
differ fire from its heat defer the soles
from their basin of touch such that
they find themselves walking into a field
of flowers & other beautiful othered things
so quick confusion comes to bright things
& behold no things but in idea—
a glass of milk on a purple countertop
a child with a blue balloon a kerosene
lamp on a wooden table the fractals of
a snowflake—
but the child cries when her balloon floats away
no longer real in her own hands— being real
in a far enough place is the same through her
small horizon as not being real at all—
but the real? translates sometimes into the real!
a thought can make eyes water
& a word may draw blood
an image shapes a laughter
& a curse causes a flood
the blue pill, neo, always take the blue pill
all that changes is what level of the matrix
you're in— the elevator does not move—
the world dances around it
& no matter how
long & hard you work when you try to
dissect wetness you'll only find bits of water
~ ajay
11/10/2021
