This and that (Poem)

I broke the sublime spacetime
of the 3 p.m dream realm.
I had to.
Flux of the Sunday couldn’t fix
the birth pain of finding a new tv show.
The spicy air orbiting around
fell on me like a bad memory.
400 times more closer was
the bug. Trying to dive into
the hairy woods of ear.
Thoughts split in the
neural prism have been spun into tales
told with soft wax of a candle and dying moths.
This vortex in the cortex
and the hot wind without any psyche
out of diesel generator irritated the
homesick snail crawling on the leaf.
The hill I saw on documentary
had an affair that’s a billion years old
with life itself. Befriending grief to form a reef.
sinking, and shrinking.
yet
out of it born is only love and more love.
I ain’t a qubit with 0 and 1
but one day
I might find both war and peace in me.

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