equalize

It isn't always me, just the skin I woke up in. It isn't just the name, it is the nature I have shed. Sparks light in the lung dark sky, stars and airplanes and satellites loosed to spy and whisper. The sickly glow arises all around, street light and houses and traffic all conspire to blind us to the night. The wind dries the sweat from my flesh, my hands feel more like gloves each day. This ache is not the measure of the world, only of the mistakes of my reckoning. Sad to fair so poorly at the only work one does, making these faulty maps, adjusting the wires to their analogous senses. Sorry to wear this shadow when everything around is all so dark.

I broke this soul into pieces so long ago, when the chores I had and the passions I endured were wroth with opposition. The divisions of utility often seem like those of calamity when you learn to tune the self as a stranger. This shard for the feelings of people, this one for the feelings of your own. It is a kind of acting, and a kind of hiding. It gives me direction when things come undone, but when things are slow and quiet all stillness sometimes riots. Parts are all provisional, parts purely weaponized. Parts are the echoes of the selves so long left on shelves that they have all but spoiled.

There is a battle to be had. But the fighting is so far from me the only damage I can manage is collateral. There is romance in the air, but the wind leaves everything unsettled. There is work to be done, but I still have yet to claim the crown from all the carnage I won in my indolence. The struggles that you must always choose you, but the fray that you yet may is always waiting for your commission. I like the ruckus of ruddy nature spilling over onto all these slabs of human certainty, I love the clear and inscrutable actions of bird and beast. Wood and creature are comfort, but the empty gesture is still my major skill. Sad to be caught indoors on a night so fine. Sorry to be looking after labor while there is so much work left to do.