Can’t confuse memory to exist in the present.
Can’t confuse spiritual action to be memories.
I am two things joggled by a clown in coma
I live in spite of unseen casualties in both –
The regularly beaten, unbeating heart;
The indefinitely unfavored flavored soul…
Can’t confuse choice with what’s looked at for it,
Truth. Must distinguish aftermath from effects of choice.
I am one thing to a man, a jerk, and the moon,
And love in spite that one thing which is Nothing.
Nothing but every thing I’ve been considered to be not;
Nothing but a thing, considered merely, inconsiderately.
Must not be blind to distinctions.
Must be distinct from the blind.
So I worry not.
This poem and image is also published in xyldrae.deviantart.com.