In the hypothetical world,
everything’s possible,
even possible is this colossal
misadventure to fold back on
itself,
gift us respite,
as we’ve never should have been to
this extent-
-shower-shunned still still nights,
flourished-envy, deeply dark,
mysterious in the intense clarity
knowing we’ve had our share of love,
affairs, love affairs running course long
after receiving a poor prognosis, locomotive
till tomorrow rolls forward,
directly over our beaten path,
and questions arise between us,
as numerous as stars rearranging their
next elliptical,
then the you inside,
the you everyone supposes
acclimates to those suppositions,
planets peering from behind cloud cover,
taking on titles unsuited if only to suit a
more viable presence-
we cannot take into each other each other
when those fragments aren’t indivisible,
individuals defiant, crying in a sad life as everyone
visible sadness has contaminated everyone visible-
-so shall we become invisible?
and will we fall into terminal despondency,
make still our motion as to attract no eyes
in motion?
Always, reckonings punching themselves
out, tiresome the wait will become darling, as
a fighter’s punch is always the last to go.
-Dontrell Lovet't
from [UnderStudies]
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