Almost Out
each breath a foresight
of shivers before an avalanche,
scared.
truth was the problem:
fear, delight and fury
and how they invited flight,
while calm and smile and peace
were the enemy of containment,
for they could not.
and it was all going to come apart,
exposed in shock as a head of lettuce
which turned out to be
a numb, hiding, traumatized mind--
and under its leafy, green, frail shields
a mad mad mad
wasp nest
and the masquerade of it all
this balancing act,
a seesaw of lungful angst
between the exhales and inhales and
avalanches and hurricanes and
this is what emotions were,
it seemed,
when they felt so right
and why everyone had to hide from them,
as if the heart had decided
justice could only erupt in brief bouts,
before it succumbed, once again,
to the fatalism of earth.
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