D.M.'s "Meeting"

I've always enjoyed observing people's faces, as if there was some sort of "stuffing" to be misplaced somehow, or perhaps it is like a mental private conversation, to unbutton imagination and let it harmlessly trickle throughout the soul. Like, "...I wonder about their life story; where are they from? What can they tell me?" &c., &c. We're typically always who we never were, but in a moment, we can become something we imagine being (or doing), as if we need translation; evaluation or re-evaluation -- the way one can imaginatively split something apart, like say an animal's head just by the mere thought of it, pondering what is inside its mind, like say a Bear for instance -- splitting open its mind where perhaps you may find silvery bright fish, mating partners and innocence. Where is the last source of "loss"? I feel it sometimes when I imagine something being in place somewhere where there's nothing there. Sometimes the chaos of minimalism thrives like political consequence. They've always said that death's shadow is white, but I have to say that it's a blur, and the confusion grows when one blinks too quickly, making it appear 'white' behind one's eyelids. There is an everlasting whirl in my psyche'. No, I think it may be in my chest, or no, maybe it's ... oh, it's everywhere. "Everywhere" is a cop-out, but maybe not. Maybe it's a reality, in this case, considering there's no focal-point. Unless I'm merely clueless. Or overly-imaginative. I know one thing: I'm too poor to buy more poetry. There was never a Cinderella, but there is always a cinder, coil and bright, burning like misery. Clocks always strike at midnight, or midnight strikes clocks. Who wants water with their dinner? ... sorry that is all that I have. I've lost my shoes, and my soles have lost their grip. Walked by a group of three this evening in the grocery store. One of them said, "the politicians in Washington are nothing but uneducated fools." I'm flying as the universe flies.