Structure

                                                                                                      @ Wikipedia. org

You tap into a thought and let it twist, turn, and  meander so it becomes unrecognizable to all your own. Dressed in its best polyester, you send it out to stride there firmly, then dwell decidedly into the outer world. It's how we like to build: clad word upon clad word upon clad word upon clad word to make believe our deep cut story. The world would probe, fit it and lastly settle its own desirable cut of any habitable truth or probable intent.

We dwell in surface structures. Oblivious or neglectful of our daily story's taproot history we tread with joy and overconfidence the still treacherous waters of all the puddles left behind in the most recent flashflood.

We live in mudrooms, disorderly and overcrowded, to leave untouched for longest time the luxurious tidy appearance of a perfect home like many others. A home out there in the world, we own, mindless of our home-within-that-home unlike another.

We gather, split and often part with many words piled in-between ourselves ready to burst like better-days bonfires, always so pious with ourselves and in contempt of one another. Mysteriously or not, immediately we gather, split and part again, each time with brighter sparks and thicker remnant and more toxic ashes, as if to prove there really is no lesson to be learnt. And to recall: a place under the sun is a just a timid stroke of light painting the dust before incoming clouds.

We move within the same recurrent story, always foretold and soon forgotten.