(no subject)
I'm a little confused about arriving here. But it feels a little, in that hazy dream type of sense, like standing on the peak of a mountain. And the fog is thick, be sure. And I can't see the land all around it that makes this height so monstrous. But like a dream I have seen the mountain top. And though I have not seen the valley, I am not shaken. The valley, I have no doubt, exists; The grazing grace and blankets of poppies. It's the end of the feat that I fear isn't real. It's the possibility of reaching the top of struggle that turns my strength into wavering flesh. But I have seen the top. I see it in instances. I catch the tail end, in dreams and fantasies. And it has a smell that no memory forgets. But what is this I'm speaking of? Where have I arrived? I think, quite possibly nowhere. I think, it's nearly midnight and the morning looms in the last moments of electric light. And I will repeat the day tomorrow. I wonder... what is this wondering?