Love is the currency of ego’s monopoly on personality.
Cult of one is the confidence to be eligible.
Cult of two is the couple who believe in each others delusion of self.
More than two is culture.
Mass hysteria when the seasons change, love is in the air.

NYPD officer struggles to pinch zoom
-phone camera photo of a pigeon.

Crutched by the privilege
others try to dictate,
are you a leg up or hobbling,
ain’t fit to type.

Here we are at it again,
the murderous opinionated about their coffee
the same bough breaking.

Justified, if only for a moment, reason entangled, guilt personified in as much as you’d let another person open their own stitches, if they thought it would make you happy, like they can make the sun brighter by turning out their own lights.

Another wishful thought arrayed between malignancy and best intentions. Convinced a self of mine that I could care beyond the pantomime. Reflecting empathy until I get a piece, bitten by the wonder, shy from the knowing, shamed every step traveled farther from the haste of a curse bestowed by the undoing of incantationed peer esteem, keeling home for the balance of responsible abandonment, pruning for growth, compose the degradation of pretense, jinxed in the fortunate folly of ships coming in, false lighthouse shine ever bright guiding captain to the rocks that will wreck ambition and lambaste solemn oaths until compromise welds the wheel to the track, anchors to the deck, tweaks spine from the back and heave might.

Alone with the thought that meaning is created. In the moment drowning, trying to decide how long before lung let the water in, felt this predicament, not a decision significant arbitrated by executive, death begins.

Freedom from the words they gave us, not enough axioms to scaffold a game worth playing through, complete and not forgettable, trivial to solve, and nothing is given to victors. I’ll let the lottery ticket expire, pretend I didn’t win, that feeling valued more than what to expect from cashing it.

At least.

You want to see pictures of pretty faces. Trying to absorb the mind behind bright eyes and full smiles. What drives the display of emotion. Motivates that expression, wonder if we too are capable of appearing.

You want to hear your name spoken by someone who knows you.
They don’t.