*Sometimes keeping focus on the things I care about is more difficult than I like to let on. Who am I to claim to be different and apart from others in a world so devoid of originality? I have no idea who I am or what could define me in a way to separate my being from the expansive nothingness of life, living, dying, breathing, and… being. I know I’m not alone. But yet here I am, isolated and dissociative. I know I’m not unique. Yet here I am, cringing at the thought my mind may have been read, possibly misinterpreted, or worse, understood in a way I have yet to grasp.*

Would you care to have your navy blue essence spread itself evenly throughout the air?
As to become such a subtle taste in the wake of all the other flavors in our breath
Do you find it dishonest, the way we return the colors a bit tainted by the substance in our lungs?
Dampening and molding the sensation into something it's never been

We ask the dissonant textures of the sky, 'Who are you?'
Flippantly, they'll redirect the phrase with indifferent ease
Widened eyes, we'll stumble
Minds dragging and dredging up any suitable response,
The lips let past a soft spoken mumble of a name

*I want to describe a meadow for you. Lush and green with overgrown grass and daffodils. A constant calm with only the noise of the occasional flap of wings and chirping of birds, running rabbits and field mice, wispy cool spurts of chilled wind aggravating the periodic stillness. The sky is light gray with clouds minding a slow pass across the bluer portions. The air is damp with the foretelling of further mist and rain in the near future. Trees, spruce and pine, line the majority of the border, save for a paved asphalt road cutting an uneven line across the farther side, expanding beyond the perimeter of the meadow’s reach. I want you to describe what's...