Under my brother's mural...looking to the light from the upstairs coming in

From the bed where I languished... once upon an afternoon-sunny bland-until-I-imposed-a-remedy I lay there w/the duality of serenity & dead-soul. I conjugated my 1 plus 1 effort, suddenly knowing my neighbor w/his spiritual machinations enthused a fusion of the ineffective-me to the vital now/I could be both! My conga drum at the foot of my bed, always w/a telegraphed presumption--this calling toward the blue outward fact & skies--yawned while my nephew (Aaron) puttered around upstairs. So I call him down to my basementCRAFT; an impetus to say something w/my hands & the voice would be secondary & readied. I said,"Listen it's something I learned, not to forget, on this drum.". So a slowed-down resumption of analysed-afternoon glum came to my hands w/a hesitation in the pattern half-way through. This is when I raised my hands even higher, closer to his face: Look at it linger, I thought. He saw it, & I am going backward in time...then in obedience to fixed notion that freedom of thought is his kind of atonomy--To relate w/ youth is formulaic FOR freedom & I wanted attention ON having always placed a half-full cup in the WAY of release, to sift into liking it for the context of an inner-dwelling.