seeing passed the decrepit palaces

...that the sky has been so neatly reflected in
the waters of the lake
means nothing.
perhaps man finds beauty in this merely
because it allows him to feel
that
much
closer
to the heavens.
But. this is a ruse, an illusion...
an Allusion to the vast expanse
of the universe in the microcosm
created by pooling water. here,
between the bends of the trees
[covered in cobwebs, filled
with moving,
brimming with life unseen]
the lake appears to go on for miles.
not unlike the ocean.
if one neglects to admit the horizon,
refusing to acknowledge
that there are boundaries, definitions,
actual spatial limitations --
it could be believed that this bend
in the trees is the corner of
eternity.
But! this is a ruse, an illusion...
no man has stood at the edge and shouted,
fearing no depths, finding no end to his vision.
at least, not yet.

tentatively, [the ruse of reflecting or the ephemeral quality of the cosmos. ]

i wrote! my brain feels better now. as does my fine point black sharpie marker. (things always look better when i handwrite them in fine point black sharpie on plain white paper. perhaps if i ever publish anything...they will allow me to publish in handwritten black sharpie. although my writing can become slightly difficult to read (for all except emily, who always manages to decipher it, somehow.) i think this is a sign that i'm settling down again. always have a hard time writing anything that isn't shit when i'm surrounded by chaos, which is frustrating really, as those are usually the times in which i need it most. but the words just won't come, and so i wait. it's really more physical dysfunction that smites writer's block on my hand and on my head, rather than chaos in the more personal world of everyday life. moving. disruptive things like that. good thing i wasn't born an army brat, or i'd be screwed. all sorts of thoughts and no way to make them come out...my head'd come near to bursting! or maybe i could just talk to kristen all the time, as she usually gives me some peace of sanity to carry around as brickwall of sorts so as to fend off ugly monsters rearing their wretchedness [i know i used the wrong form of that word...i meant it as such. leave me alone.]

"she is a friend of my mind. she gather me, man. the pieces i am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order. it's good, you know, when you got a... friend of your mind." - toni morrison, beloved