The complexity of a long-shadow rendered in the simplest terms,
For all it’s obfuscation, you expect its murky tentacles, and the crevices they occupy, to remain unfound.
To persist as imperceptible.
Perhaps why, deconstructing the equation of its holding – once figured / once exposed,
Patterns over against penetrating belief.
You still stand alone – disgusted at the easy dispersal of its magnitude / of its transparency.
Open / readable / agreeable.
Away from that theory-laden exchange,
Your transcendental moment dissipates like a whisp of an ink-shroud on the tide.
And the complexity litters again, like a dark-glitter at the circumference of your experience.
There’s something terrifying about that,
But also something like an old-lesson.
Like the Tempest wails: An everyday odyssey.