Adrenalin at the Pulpit
Indecisiveness as a derogative
Flown with the flag of a coup,
Like a childish game of pole taking and capture the flag economics, calculate on time, space and effort spent. Excel spreadsheet.
I am quantifiable.
Sharp edges and soft speech, malignantly adorable calculations,
“You have a way with words” one said. So elating.
As a mist or a fogger
Covering spaces and gaps, cracks that appear while peering through the analysis,
I unnecessarily roll into brackets.
How generous the storm of not happening,
Protecting from equivalent of thought.
Where nothing is omnipresent, but the curtain keeps moving and all the magicians are lined up.
I love the animosity of friendliness, the silent touch. Of unexplained reminiscence into unattainable wants. At a pulpit. In sharp focus.
Admiring the tapestry.
One glides between adrenal functions. Fighting with a poisonous salute. So hopeful in the mournful mist. The fogger brings protection, joy and guilt.
The reader, the observer and main character,
All lined up for the feast.
There are emotions. Needs and wants. Triangulating. Vastly playing with the landscape.
As one desired to play, approach, appeal, with godly tendencies. As to persist in demand and omission, “no follow-ups”. Yet to observe, obtain, abolish?
A teaching in the childish ways, corrupting hardware. Elasticity of modern myths.
A prayer as a silent siege. With adrenaline at the pulpit. With wants and needs and. Guilt.
