If you have happened to take notice of Daphne
How her handwriting mimes hellbine, where
The word stems safety pin swoops, and coifing
Into dewy focus—the pretenders at her knowledge
She thinks, how good of you, in a weekend layover
To discern the scrawl of these folios braced and broken
To broadcast yourself, and all the ants were streaming.
Etched in the blue-green murk—she dashed—again, wordy,
Again to the cover of bracken in a cloak of unimportance.
Resolved to be speechless, and if necessary, astringent.
First—you take my hands—as if they would manage
Body wires, and your scalp separates into hydra or a fire
Spitting sparks, your hair pulls away your sensuous nape
How heedlessly you might cut it off, if at a distance.
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I am surprised you remembered this, as equally as I am surprised that an intelligent person like yourself would ever waste time trying to elevate (alleviate) someone; or worse, pity them. This is a fragmented voice, who is Daphne? Who is she apostrophizing? It is shitty not knowing the answers to those questions. Swarm behavior is
the recollection of all of these voices, who thought themselves original, independent, or isolated, and then observing highly conserved, nearly universal congregation, which is unknowingly achieved by the individual agents.
Whenever a relation to someone goes further than hypothetical, I am exposed for being inept in every one of my alluring traits. Subsequently, the dismemberment happens quite fast, and in spite of all of my serious emotional investment up to speaking to someone. It is a relief not to go to far, with my symptom. I still have much to work through, until I can find peace with another person in the present, and not just in a wrinkle in Time's fabric.
I am trying not be negative today in order to preserve some measure of productivity, which is the only form of devotion I have to offer you.
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