The Floccinaucinihilipilification of the Soul

[Amerist]

The Floccinaucinihilipilification of the Soul

I would this were a better World; when the unique brevity and transience of beauty didn’t pass as mundane after the millionth-trillionth passage breathed with such celerity as to vanish into darkness and distance in the moments between heartbeats. Astronomical coincidences occur in every instance of time; every atomic moment has conundrum running icy fingers down its shivering spine; a myriad upon myriad danse of many and as indecipherable as the puzzle of stars.

Roll the bones, slop veal entrails, fluvial wash of politics and time, lay cards on the table, and read. Bear to me secret truths undiscovered, all those refractions of you that twinkle in my eyes.

I would this were a different world; where time would stop for every new meeting; when eyes will lock, thoughts will twine, and a meeting of minds finds them not wanting; and against all other odds, knowing differences make the wheel what wanders, and those questing ghosts whisper passages of long forgotten books into smiling ears.

I would you knew me: another ethereal reflection in the smoky whisky glass; an apparition of alcohol vapor and the cotton unconscious.

I would my soul were meaningful; but I wonder what individual transmigration has been lost in that forest of light; and when I hear, from those sallow lips again, that I am not important; I wonder then how meaningful are you?