subconsciously true

i think that it is the i in me ~ 
my disposition, my thoughts, my feelings
that evoke (acquire, if it suits you better) 
the images the camera sees, and
                                                                                not my eye [i].

then i scribble about it. in simple words 
ask the entire universe for more. of the kind.
relinquish the core of my being to be delineated 
thousands of miles away, turned inside out
beneath the layers of an unknown nebula
fingers molding the void, pressing the space
to the formless shape of my blood and bones.
pure. raw real. subconsciously true.
honest. to self only. (sometimes)
and vaguely obscure, evanescent
always morphing to retain wholeness
i fragment to grains of sand between
the stones of gravity to be i. slip in the gaps.
breathe the ocean unobstructed. full lungs.
as air dies off in the sudden gusts of wind
i cannot see, but distinguish against my skin
an inter-galactic polarity drawing me near.

lately i almost come to believe it.

kind of self-fulfilling prophecy, right?

"woman, with her very dissimilar psychology, is and always has been a source of information 
about things for which a man has no eyes." ~ C.G.Jung, Aspects of the Feminine

post # 800

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