The Horse of Apollo

Heavily, gulls sail across the sky,
rise above firs, poplars and sapling oaks; watch them
overhang against a framework, prototypical- unspeakable. The radio
echoes increasing costs for local florists or why storms with
female names kill more people. Wretched
allure of feminism.

Then…a word on emotions

A spoken one, indeed. Not from the horse’s mouth, for what’s the merit in a bystander’s eyes.

In some places, there is music in the air,
in Japan they call it ikigai,
  for what sentiment is worth, if only the reason for being

Finding source, and other than floating, it might strike out the noise;
selective silence is time chosen

Social change gives us grounds for inability – dare we say anxiety – to leave the mind mute, and else,
your emotions aren’t your own; any more than the instinct of a giraffe
where groups create your individual perspective
shaping tendencies square in ardent regimes

…one senseless      physical vacuum conjures mental imbalance,
stillness as a cure endemic

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