[Something Other] a Poem

We know nothing,

almost nothing of fatigue,

of grief,

the manner in which it metastasizes in the muscles,

in the viscera, how it diminishes our cerebral functions-

-a theory, that our cells are affected physiologically when we see the resistant strain of sadness a resplendent thing, a resilient, inhuman thing, that plans to arrive temporarily, sees that its transplantation is a possibility without rejection,

 and refuses to budge from its cavity of capture,

distils its spite through septic memory and math, envelopes a ratio almost mute to clotted sounds of capital antibiotic-

-there then is a seething city,

 dense,

 both with proud smiles and dimming lights inside a mind

 lost in landscape of memory and darkening roses,

roaming the narrow streets around itself

while it too roams different wider streets

 around something other.

-from [Leitmotif]