Slime of Comparison

Her glance flits across the room -
just a gnat of time -
allowing her the pretence of distraction.
But nanosecond and third side-looks
confirm her departure.

Within, I hear
the void noise of chipped memories
and incendiary torment,
and search the dank hank
of my synapses:
What act fell into her eyes
as sin or error?
What word?
What trait?

The slime of comparison
wraps its rot
around my psyche
entombing the dawn and horizon
that once tangoed there
in the moonlight.

This deathgrip of doubt
flings its corpse
into the purple pool
darkened by depth.

But beneath the freefall,
lies a fathomless grace
if
I enter naked
of uniqueness
and ego's attire...
escorted solely
by a single
simple
Self.

08/19/2002

Posted on 08/19/2002
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