Tenacity
Principally speaking,
the rains come and go
whenever you feel like healing
is a little too much work;
whenever the monsoon’s revealing
of the past
is just too much dirt
shored up against what the past represents for you:
loneliness.
Deep, painful hurt
and being created,
and left behind
by divinities who you aspire to be
but only in the mind.
Heart, soul, body—
all these were left out of sight
in your winding roads
that instead have always sought to find
a new poetry
that declines
individuation and heroism,
and invites us to repeatedly time travel
into a life, and a regularisation, that reminds us
that we were made out of schism
and that it is our fault
that the world keeps turning back on itself.
Unbidden,
I require something else
to prove the equation:
a line in the sand,
drawn between myself
and all your incomplete psychomathematical formulations.