in the tarot deck the fool card is described as one who makes the same choice again and again just to see what happens. and i cannot get over the name that my tounge held that morning, or where the fear could never touch. something leaning again the brightest of the shadows
and stars never even counted much less wasted. what i mean, there was a moment where all theory was gone, all choirs of perception and mere reality dissolved in the wake of what waded through the glass and turning to remind me that the actual is something we dont form ourselves in the 'your world is inside you' innertopia, but evolves out of the ash of this mediocrity to glow when glowing is needed. and im trying to corner it, to box in the idea that i made that turn that morning without the idea it would be any different, worse then that, without the hope that anything new would come to pass, and thats where i am not a fool and would like to be. but i am back here, where the faces are memorized and the concrete claimed, and i dont expect it to be new, i dont even know if i hope? but there are these poems i keep having, and all im trying to say is you were there.
mikl paul is 23. he lives in california and soon santa fe. he spends his time writing poems, and following a dream without betraying its faith.