The senses are yours to compose a world of beauty with the might of your mind.

Contents

. repose . recoil . rigour . resplendence

Resplendence

to shine

to be beautiful

to glow with splendour

DREAM

This morning (it rained)

I must have nearly diedfor (behind REM eyes) in my sleepI dreamed of an entire lifewith few things no body could tame

with the blame of their exonerated shame

for the pity they failed to exhale from their soul

a dream has little to do with what we thinkwhen there’s no photo

but pure happiness

honesty and heart

that sort of pure leaves no room fordwelling in the past or even

what kind of stand is used to rest our hats onmost breath instead of fixations

permeate the energy for changing

the imperfect, and loved(reflects ourselves at a level)so when we look back at what could be

we care not for

any sort of tear that could sneak down the cheek

there’s no rack for despair

in this dream

only a feeling the vision is shared

inside the soul of a gentleman(sweetly) seeking to also love

so sincerely.

TUNED TO THE SAME BEAT

Please, please, please- pretty please

oh won't this you I’ve grown accustomed to

remain an acquaintance tuned to the melodic frequency

rhythmically synched within

beat, the beat, the resonating thump musters a bump

in my chest cavity,  a well chimed in a personal journey

in sigil to the a could

may dwell long enough to become a would

instead of bound by what I should

rhyme, a rhyme- rhyming with time

suddenly incapable of escaping my mind

the down and nearly out is barely looked upon

or considered

stride, stride, as I stride along

creating a vibratory humming sound

with vocals prepped

ready to burst into song

flown, blown, and sewn

into a great lakes bluster

of a city suburbanites go heading in

travel towards

an illusory escape from the reality

those invisible lines are drawn between

lives all the same.

PIECES OF TOGETHER

It's been forty minutes in a bumper to bumperhead to tail-light situationMellowed by some new age woodwind tunesI safely sit strapped to my means to see him machinehurling now through this existential continuumat mile per hour speeds of which I shy from mentioningoccasionally muttered under my methylated breathknowing my arrival stems

approximately five minutes earlier than planned

I resign to the velocity in which I remain in a whole piecetemporarily and tenderly reminiscing of a morningfrom a recent experience induced of a drugno market could make followed by the picture I mentally made in the pancakes as flowers blooming

between the tines of my fork

this gesture made a fullness of wonderment

in the absence of being witnessed

miniature moments allowed everyday redundancyto seem brighter than the analytical appreciation

I had bitten off with a degree

righted by the wrong worry of thoughts

misconstrued for meaning amongst the lot

possibly provoked by a pace comfortably patternedin the grid of our universe we stopped to findtravel times assuming saner speedsallowing the trigger of a parking break lever

on the verge of snap

a much needed nap.

INCONCLUSIVEToday I sat and thought awhileno-wait, I ran in circles around a theoryabout the separation between the body and mindalways vying for first in line.inquiring at which is better or worse,and found out quite finely the notion

was intentional in its quotient for existential angstsuch distractions about perceptions of glasses

full, empty, half, or what angle

have little to do with the particles

constituting air and mass

formed whether we think about them

or not at last

our subjectivity forms

a solipsism for existencewhen objects become mental events

for tyrants pulling the strings

you can forget about what you thought you knew

since reasoning has a logic

the so called universe could care less about

as the physics tends to the billions grass blades

sprouted and bent beneath daily chores and rituals

our minds are given less weight

in the contexts of a situation on repeat

unresolved as if a dream

or a memory had nary much a difference.

PANTS

Seams running miles of inches beyondthe heels that shifted fromgrinding the ground

into an inhale-able substancethe dust brings our bodies back to reality

in time the miles of walking out now

become white-out between the lines

of a story blocked-outthe memory underlies the stickiness of the substance

if only the truth could be trusted to be known

would we dive in knowing someone would save us

if drowning was a real risk and offer a towel?

to pat temples of fear sweat drops

dry in time for the dance party

we could serenade each other around

a rolled up towel

for example —

to erase the weight of the memories

our dancing legs try to erase

through the memories the scent our sweat carries.

WIND

An abrupt shift in pace. A weekend of inspiration,

forgetting expectations,

exceeding limitations,

the wind I loathed so long and so much,

may have done — all the good.

© Mari Amman

Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL III.

First edition 2023, electronic distribution. Text and Images by Mari Amman.

The poems contained within this volume were drafted circa 2006-2009, in Chicago, USA, and edited during spring 2023 in Paris, France, with the enormous support of The Trélex Residency.

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