TO SINK IN SEPARATION (WITH FINZI)

This is a poem that me and my friend Josh wrote verse for verse.

With a shudder the locamotive departs,
resonnating the thrill of an unforseen journey,
Do you wish to lose purpose, to have it replaced with the notion of chance?

Perhaps you carve out diagrams in your dreams,
& hang them upon your wall like old dogs;
Do you close your eyes or pry them open all
minutes to see the hills of your future? Do you sleep?
Maybe you have pulled your dreams into the flesh.

Is it possible to accept the unacceptance of others?
Can you go on living, casting prejections of your nature to the physical,
or will you gaze to your being to see it flicker and fade,
never to be witnessed unless illuminated by isolated caputures.

Your life is an ocean & you are so many millions of fish in all places;
yet you look only at the motes & the plankton & you say:
--That is me, & you point.
You are all clouds of history & every musical note
which saves the heart from suicide,
Yet you put yourself in a cage & ask them to pay three dollars for entry.

Do you also find emptyness in the plaza, in expectation, in the mirrors reply?
To be true to yourself divides the masses,
will you put on a show for perspective?

Can you see yourself on the stage,
presenting the cinemascreen of your life?
Can you dance the acrobatics & sing those immortal songs?
Can you feed the world with yourself?
Or have you become a hermit crab, scuttling across the rocks
of an aquarium to hide in the kisses of shadows?
Your life is a garden overteeming with lilacs & tulips & snapdragons & ferns
--how will you let them grow? To the sun?

Consider that perhaps all that is may be be
nothing more  than the sketch of a blind man,
forever forming for no reason past that of asymmertrical collaberation.
The carnival of motion evelops all other thought,
shadow becoming feedback for clarity.
Behold, renaissance through repitition.

Write down one word, & then another, & write forever
until the light of infinity dissappears behind the moon
-- is this your story?
Perhaps you are an atom of God, a nodule on His tongue.
Perhaps you are me as I am you,
before you lies the road where the locamotive has begun it's departure,
will you step on, or callapse into roadkill?
Life has so many petals. Pluck one.

As last years memories fade to forgotten,
could they continue to define me?
Adjacent to my forlorn figure,
could it be while unknown to me it is all you're able to see?
When you notice, is there still hope?
Or is it easier to instead retire your belief in someone no longer present?
I would not blame you for a second if you thought it necessary to wash away
all recollection of when we were family.

So you have turned off the television, & retired to the meadows
where hollow spirits go to surrender.
Your thoughts have become silence; your body is the garbage hopper outside.
You have spent so long running to fade into somebody else,
so you never truly touched the world.
You are cement & you are aswphalt.
We offered you an empire; you rejected the sky for a stone.
Are you happy with who you have become?
Is this what you wanted?
Or did you want the heavens to open above
& welcome you with soft feather arms?
Look back. Maybe you can try again.