the only solace for a coalwalking mind

is to look down & believe

in the immateriality of its feet

differ fire from its heat defer the soles

from their basin of touch     such that

they find themselves walking into a field

of flowers & other beautiful othered things

so quick confusion comes to bright things

& behold no things but in idea—

a glass of milk on a purple countertop

a child with a blue balloon a kerosene

lamp on a wooden table the fractals of

a snowflake—

but the child cries when her balloon floats away

no longer real in her own hands— being real

in a far enough place is the same through her

small horizon as not being real at all—

but the real? translates sometimes into the real!

a thought can make eyes water

& a word may draw blood

an image shapes a laughter

& a curse causes a flood

the blue pill, neo, always take the blue pill

all that changes is what level of the matrix

you're in— the elevator does not move—

the world dances around it

                                                    & no matter how

long & hard you work when you try to

dissect wetness you'll only find bits of water

~ ajay

11/10/2021