for the sake of locomotion

[Sepia]

In dreams we walk through tall barren grass, wiltering away neath our feet, dry sounds as stepping on glass. We try to make sense of it, we try to walk around with a sense of pride, let it be something we've created not, let it be a drowner. Time turns to a sudden halt and love is seen fleeting at the edges of reality like a butterfly with a chameleons properties. We hope that love and hope will be enough to give us something we can work with, something we can find in the dying seasons, something that will still work as we tug our hearts and blindfolds into something different, something else. A lie but still a full life, a thought and the harassed men and women wandering in a daze, catching the birds before we release them into the cold and into the hearts of the cold men, our lovers and trustees we've chosen simply because they were there in a time we needed them, several occasions where we're allowed to smile and weep, making it feel natural, making it feel holy even though we know it isn't, there's nothing that is holy in our situations or hearts, it gets created in our minds when our egoes shatter, when the dreams die and we wake up realizing we've been sleeping for so many years and we have to make a choice, we have to do something, someone has to do something, an act needs to seal the deal in blood, in spit and saliva, the ancient methods of grudge and dying hearts

We close the doors to the rooms we no longer wish to view, we've seen what they had to offer us and we drank it up but now we're moving away again, nomadic and african are our features, we've changed so many times we can't recall, we can't recall when we bought the things that litter our walk-in closet, we can't remember who we were when we wore ties daily, when we used chlorine to bleach what we had because everything tended to turn against offwhite, we were quickly fading like the snow on the ground, run over by the cars and buses, run over by the commuters, scrawled upon with clawing cocks in the winter cold, heat abiding by the second thermodynamic principle in the physics of the game but also, oh also and always in the social setting but we fail to see it as it happens and we breathe it in, the toxicity of the retrospective, the rotten core of the apple, the maggots still squirming, the plan that takes control of our lives and we let  it ride us, thinking we've made it, thinking it's happened like this, moving on towards something simpler and easier, esthetics catching the rays of the sun as we don the rat traps on our feet and walk into the snowy landscape

We can't help but think that it's true what we learnt as we took our toddling first steps, unaware and unsure in a world embraced for people bigger than us and as we saw them from our froggy perspectives, they were larger than all of us, we didn't see the complexities in their actions, the unfathomable of it and as we grew we thought that every person in existence is a snowflake, something unique but at the time we thought about it in a romantic way with romantic gestures, giving it something more than it was because it wasn't really that, when we were young the snowflakes were beatiful but now as we traverse the landscape littered with unique fates we've grown tired and weary, our bones are cold and we sit down

some of us to rest, some of us to think but most of us sit down to choose