Belonging as Consequence: On Poetry

It was just a momentary untruth in my way, bodies of the crowd blocked the big blue outside. Now I have a stealthy cause: to try and be myself, to further a personal idea of arrangement, of how to use those thoughts, the ones that don't get used. But how to let them tick without abuse. How to repay the debt, use the solvent, blast the botched & troubled nearby— What does everyone else caress? All those etched poses neatly joined: Mastery, hierarchy, witchcraft & shamanism. A spike in the dander keeps me plain enough— but to insist! To consolidate those fears—after months of uncertainty couldn't cough or breathe or pilfer correctly. Now this victorious shape, this idea moves through muteness, shyness, weakness— then it awakens: Becomes a nonconformist happenstance— A person saddled beneath Reaches up for a fiction, abundant and unrestricted ideas poised and in front.