Perhaps I am eccentric. Sure,

my oddness rises to the surface.

I question: whom among us is conventional?

 

Transporting to the aesthetic embracing

us, we revel in earth’s promises.

(not to be overtaken, but for buoyancy)

 

Will you strive to be an iconoclast

carving (tearing) my beliefs apart,

reducing my metal from its ore?

 

Perhaps I am eccentric and my peculiarity

rises from the floorboards, but I must not

permit ordinary vapors to fill me.

 

Nonchalant, secure;  disapproval does not worry me—

it isn’t hubris. Do not accuse me (please)

of being full of excessive pride, full of conceit.

 

I merely suggest we trust our guts, our instincts,

and listen to our animal voices; why not

permit mysterious spells to challenge logic?

 

Allowing an impulse—a sweet whim

to overtake us in moments of fancy,

to live fully formed, radiant, and crystalline.