lilac in primitive ways.

there were days.
not far away at all
pretty close in fact.
when I was dwelling in possibility.
not in the lovely
poetic way
little solitary
emily dickinson put it.
not in the
"oh what I could have
but I dont"
more of
what I believed I will
and it reflected
in every aspect of my life
friendships
and prayers and poetry
I could be magnificent
my words were not repetitive
they were new
and they were grand
and they shocked
even I
as I uttered them
then drew them
that was last week
no
last month
probably a little further
november I would say
still not so far away.
now
I have hurdled to the bottom of fear entangled
knowledge
that dryly stares me in the face
and all these people with
other ideas
that almost stomp upon mine
still I will have the good grace
to rummage through my papers
and rise a new.
I still love it all
unconditionally.
let there be stale bottom of bathtubs
top of roofs
solitude
and sadness
that morphs into you
a cannibal.
because I am bleak
and my town is bleak
but the sky is vast and lilac at late nights and
populating
everywhere
and it dosent wait
for political, social
approval.