a syllable, or two

pardon me; on my part, i would admit to a lack of reasoning. i could wish. but i would not, for wishings have brought me here; to the plump lands of never, to the flat lands of now, and tomorrow, to the rolling lands of wondering how. a short distance, i would admit. with much vehemence as we vacillate, as we rekindle, as we traipse between inky skies. our forefingers, we point straight above as we judge, we watch and let time drag like a knife down our spines. where art thou? the saviours! we may never find them for they are gone; dead, and yet still flying us blind. only residuals of burgundy that has been left unseen. we see only stars, sick in cosmic dreams. pure no more. maybe it is you. no, maybe it is the oxygen as you pass. your mouth that is always turned upwards ripe from life. fly dead butterfly, swim like a dead mermaid. override the cancerous cells, the rotten years, and all the excuses that camouflaged as reasons. today, my words are barely carved into stones as the negative of his eyes discover all. inhale. consume because tomorrow, tomorrow, i will admit to waking with a jolt. from a dream unforseen, to promising that "i will" for everything. i shall! spend the rest of my days nurturing a lotus within my heart. and i shall do so until you grow those bluebird wings, until we learn our tricky new language, until we stand (once again) like receptors stand like lollipops in oz.