C’mon, Dosey-Do

You have a cardboard box. 

With tape still on it, 

as you recently tore it open.

Now, as I am invited into exchanges of

many words both heavy and feathered,

I see the light brown box with miasmas of 

empty warehouses and utilitarian goods creep out.

And with precise, subtle movements you

begin to maneuver it around my language. 

In which, the flesh of it turns sallow

In which, the heartbeat of it becomes murmured 

In which, the belief in its livelihood scatters all around my feet

Why do I fold at your passive questioning?

Why do I waver at your beam-like perception?

Why do I stand with one leg suspended,

while the other quivers to remain grounded in your presence?

All this is subliminally transmitted between you and me.

All this is left untouched and unresolved.

Could you ask me with a heart that desires to understand and believe?

Could I interrupt your isolated, silent formulations and tell you to listen?

Must I strip for your lazy eyes to see?

Must I weakly doubt what you have weakly accused?

Shall I, I shall speak truthfully

not with trepidation of what I may or may not possess

And may you, you may speak truthfully

not with hidden labyrinths that require me to walk through, 

alone

Fold that box up

Lay it on the ground

And I’ll invite you to sit on it with me

As I tell you stories that will cause tears and unruly joy

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Filed under le regard, memento vivere, Psychology

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