fear, feeling, fate?

a few hours in and i'm tapping
the shell for weak spots,
leaning in, peering round
at kinks of ink black hair
and brand new stubble.

i have a red chin
and fear trouble ahead,
as i indulge in
bowl-eyed-beauty
of animalistic tendency.

i'm sorry that you seem to find a bind,
do you see reference points on a map
as a trap? i thought it was the kind of
thing you'd like - being practical
and enjoying detail, and fact somewhat.

there's a road sign we all slide behind:
it says no entry, roman sentry at the gate,
but like me you don't believe in fate, as such,
but what is, is, as lemn says
and we thought as much.

if i'd been alone i would've stayed,
followed the light, zoned in, got shot of ties
and reference points, pins in a map
can dangerously alter the course of flight
in spite of independence.

it itches like freshly cut hair
on the back of the neck to admit,
and i resist the comparison to
samson and delilah,
choice, i repeat as a mantra.

'the leap of faith without fear
requires relinquished attachment to result'.
i prise my fingers apart -
remind me that i don't own them!
a borrowed body shudders

and what strange creatures we are?
can't we let go of the stories we're told
and create our own?

i fear you're searching for a truth
you will not find, sir,
not in socialism or free parties or straw dogs.

is there more to life than death as it is?
let's not comfort ourselves in philosophy,
cast off the blanket of ideology,

let's remain unwrapped
entreating lines of logical
time space, space time
to spin behind, in front, upside down,
and all around in a circle.

a perfectionist, yes, but you'd do well
to end the embargo
on public displays of affection.
loosen the fingers from a clenched fist,
i'll help with the rest.

a beginning should be unspoilt;
so please, let's not let it be soiled
by reticence.