Misshapen, shaken, rattled
Our intentions are a battle
to keep thoughts inside congruous
with the body we're controlling.
Our language of transition
to the feelings we position
ourselves relatively; it lacks motivation and our
trepidation is showing more easily now;–
some may think that I look weary –
I'm actually just nearing
the point of a mental debasement;
Our smiles are bigger in our minds than on our faces;
a stolid look of knowing holds many solid traces
of a slipping base of morals and a fear of arbitration.
Manners of framing our stark acquisitions
imply feelings of loneliness (a harsh imposition) –
souls get what they want, and bodies in kind;
those with a hole may be building a mine.