|Impulse and Accident
||[Mar. 30th, 2016|03:08 pm]
|||||very much alive||]|
|||||Hedningarna: Ölbackens Polska||]|
Impulse and accident;
the first taste of you - half proximity,
We crave some deeper meaning writ in stars
or imagine this contact is the fruit of an unattainable
deliberatly perscribed clarity of mind -
a summoning ritual that paired us together
in immaculate romance
symmetrical and everlasting,
a triumph, a glass blade,
a cup of wine which never dries.
We imagine love is ordained
in a wild landscape of teeth & thorns
which promises naught but entropy.
We are entropy,
we are for entropy.
You were an impulse,
you were an accident,
and my taste for you like so many foods
is as fluctuating as the blood that courses
thick and pulled by monthly tides.
The moon will cast her sight on any creature that walks bellow.
You were not special, there was no design,
the catastrophic catacombs of thread and fate
are a spider's snare that tunnels on and on forever
and caves into itself
in the center of the world.
Do not lie. Cast off your superstition.
This is no less real for having cacophonous origins,
don't hold a perfect thing up imagining it is perfect
[like humans love to do],
and terrified yearn and howl at your pain that you might never
have such a clean design again.
We are unclean.
Spare the stars your hexes,
and fear not the unknowable odds of living.
I cannot love you any more.
I cannot love you any less.
There is no wit to blame.
There is only impulse