There’s a frail and shallow black — so feeble and repulsive; but tha other — abounding, intoxicating, too deep to explain, that’s Power… the blackest Black
don’t we perpetually, passively, improperly take the night for granted?
guilt will kill people
gloomy days remind me of my disgust of grey
does it smell of spring?
everything is in you…
stiff cars pass ahead, robotically (where passion abandons one)
all i wRite is Relevant
many things can pass through me in a 24-hour window…
what you into, you’re into… we get chosen, per se.
it’s evil when i ask them, “Why?” — it’s a ploy (as always)
a trap they might very well fall right
— into.
watch out, i’m on your shoulder, peeking at your frail soul
my Black is bigger, or whatever.
There’s a frail and shallow black — so feeble and repulsive; but tha other — abounding… was originally published in Philosophies, Psychologies, Poetries, Spiritualities on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.