palpable

There's this certain lever that you pull
from time to time

Steel shaved and never truly looked carefully after.
It's instructions it reminds us, you, to oil
and clean away deposits.
which we never, ever, do.

The rough shape it is in
 is palpable.

From parental death
(my o my it surrounds at every turn!)
To the future tense.

Not feeling an ability
for connection.
To lovers where there's no love

But I can sometimes see possibility.
In others past and future
and I abscond away the thought of
    present
    tense
There's such as resolutions for future
act
And then to remembrance of the past
it's near twists and avoidance
of disaster.

There's been a string of casualty;
From the long term that have grown
to contempt
of it's day to day vacillation

To the intermediate that just didn't connect
the way I needed it to
in a circle of reciprocation

To the short term,
that overwhelms before it's even begun.


Is it limerence that I love?
Because actual, requitedness of
        love isn't
      really known.

I want it to be of capability,
I want it to be completely pure.

Perhaps I want much,
too much, of things I can't
expect from anyone else.
Or maybe it's just my way to protect
myself,
  and as well
     and as well
protect those around me from me.

It's stupid, and unneeded
I guess, if there was a worthwhile fight in my
own life, this will be the one.

The one to change.