The Progression Concept

Here’s an elaborate speech about something very simple:::

 

Thoughts can hold you prisoner,

And their ransom, your week’s wellbeing.

I had my little self encaged in a cubic pastadon.

When brought among us, his face and mouth twisted as one screaming

But no sense projected,

Ranting as one convincing,

But no literation to the audience,

only chirping, biting sounds.

It was unfortunate.

 

Carnival litter @ my feet.

Knees bent, forming an alphabetical symbol:::

 

Why can’t intentions be red like epiphanies?

Why not vespers public among friends?

Again, is there no understanding in [in-tention]?

Why succumb to natural offenses if uncomfortable explanations need to occur?

And as a reflection, why even speak when comfortable?

 

I can do back flips off walls and break bricks like team powder.

I can shut down and power off.

 

I can grip empty fists and slam

Dance with the ghosts of excretion,

Push and humiliate them.

 

I can sleep fully in a coat with arms crossed…

Mute *

 

For the sake of one’s state,

Transparency in communisation,

Notice the piles of bark brought natural notes of sand sculptures and edible earth,

And this is why I consider us children, for the healing that playfulness brings.

Can one’s description situation be as pure?

 

Most thoughts are intestinal waste, waiting to be the fertile ground of our actions.

 

Identification.

 

For your soft and sacred heart, a cup of open honesty.

For the sake of indie optimism, the purest core of infatuation.

 

Kindness can be like glass.

 

Ó 2008 Jonathan DeLucia, all rights reserved

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