keep feeling

I am a fascinating type 
of exceptional kind: not 
fascinating at all! That's 
a break from the rule
otherwise defined.

Exceptional can be as bad 
as the rule is not, but in this 
case (case-by-case) it smells 
alright. Like flowers borne
by sharp spring breeze 
through snot! We get worlds 
secondhand. We can't much 
help the animal we've got. 

So must screen out by thought, 
in blank and blot, we focus 
hot and cold, we slip from 
warm to cool. To me, 
it's wild! But I'm 
a fool. For love, 

plus all equivalent cause. 
As if cause was. I fudge 
the clause exceptionally 
in such good case. I keep
feeling fascination grow, like
others of my fascinating type,
but unlike them - I don't fascinate.
Not much! Far as I can tell, or know.
Which is cool as hell!

I don't like to confuse. It's great, 

except, 'hell' - it is not so cool, 
is it though? Still, the metaphor's
not supernatural. Yet, fascinating
that aspect was in. That angle was
there. And we caught it! Oh 

I am wonderful 
in a backwards way:
not a cause of wonder,
just full of it! I wonder 
a lot, but it's okay. And

so 

the conversation turned, 
until the sun went down. 
And much reality was
learned, imagined 
possible was found.  
 
Keep feeling. Keep it 
up, and in, root down, 
aim out all through this 
place you find by being 
so. You might as well, 
since any false you give 
is you.

Just true. As hell. That's who 
and how and what you gave. 
Or was it not? That's how you 
are then, all in all. What's in 
you you don't give lives not. 

True comes in flavors, tones 
from foul to sour to bitter and 
sweet. From meant right well 
to ill. It's sick to pick and feed
on weak, with such a feast laid 
out from farm to board. Grown 
and mined from either ore you 
care to dig, and delve and smelt. 

You might as well.
'Cause there's 
the door