Poetry - Isis Zystrid

Celestial

i am not one to resist logic,

i do not need my head

to be in the clouds

to get through

the day.

though i find no fault

in trying to keep

your pineal gland

from calcifying,

do not doubt that

the things arising within you

are attached to the ethereal.

but i have to take

this overcast afternoon

to curse that the two

have not met

in this scenario--

my divine synapses

have not alchemically bonded

to the most bare bones

version of reality.

see, when you meet

the perfect person

for you

and feel nothing for them,

it makes one desire

to take blunt objects

to the intersection

of where the physical world

and the ether meet.

chemicals have stirred in me

at such grandiose velocity--

such acute emotions

torn from the part of me

where these things are created.

but so often in scenarios

where there was no rationale

for these sensations

to stand on.

logic had to refuse

when i had an entire world

growing inside of me

for a being who would be

of no benefit to my life.

but the turn of fate

has presented a soul

that would be an ideal

hand of cards,

but i look upon them

and i am all logic, logic

reason and stand bereft

of celestial worlds

growing inside of me.

Man Made

she expresses

the tales

of her logic,

"i'm an atheist,"

painting wind inklings

and senses that overcome me

as miniscule frivolities

to be discarded

as child's play.

i was certain

that the force

that held the scenery

was up to something,

had an elusive craft

that many had spoken of

and many refuted.

these tempestuous storms

and then the droughts,

droughts--

it could be according

to procedure

or it could be the drab,

calculated inevitability

of noncommital stagnance.

the sidewalk

held our conversation,

and one must wonder at times

why we are guided

on trails

that are discordant

with our fulfillment.

are there always proclamations

of cut and dry rationality

floating above

man made substances

that suffocate

the surface

of the earth--

i am caught

holding my breath

because what is organic

in me

has come across a boulder.

what connects to the electricity

beneath my flesh

from sources outside of me

cannot scavenge and gather

from this declared