The Middle

Having it both ways,
manic agitation glides
into an obligatory forced dichotomy of thought.
A quivering bipolar blanket of murky gleam and glisten
suspending a sightless surge.
Above a muddy underline,
an urge of plainly brown tide shades before the undertow
out ahead of a broken wave, anticipating the impending draw.
Contrary?
If you must ask this question,
it’s not obvious how such mentality
should abide then so strangely
in one place
in one dream of mind,
as confusing opposing undercurrents flow against themselves
in one brain;
all that is known up against the alternative unknown,
felt aside unfelt,
tolerating simultaneous whisperings,
each up against an inside wall,
concurrently instantaneous:
yes then no, no then yes –
not neurotic, but impelling indecision,
the long tow of blood from one vein to another.
As contradictory and conflicting as it appears.
Is it hard to watch? It’s hard to live.
Mesmerized by compulsion
without control or command,
advancing backward
and drowning before you –
not in currents,
but in hesitant uncertainty.
How you live both ways
and not at all.