prerogative. your right

you are waiting for me to say something. preferably not contrived. no excuses, explanations, apologies, misnomers, ammunition. you are waiting for my directive. my bloom. full season. expansive breadth, realized scope... for my understanding of the meaning of prerogative. you're right. it's not what i thought it meant. 
but aside and yonder from words and their implicit approximation which i am so hesitant to subscribe to,
 i am waiting to know. 
to be. i am 
 in my becoming... and you, too,
are there. still 
 waiting. 
waiting but not still. expectant rather. you aim 
 to be present. you buy a ticket, climb aboard, take a seat. a spectator 
waits for the kickoff. for the shrill sound of a whistle commencing play.
 for the shot to fire. 
for the gates to swing wide or lift out of caged slots. hooves and feet kicking up dust. the feature presentation.
 for the curtain to rise as the lights dim and a hush falls over 
a room full of warm bodies
  alone together
    waiting to be transported 
by the experience. 

but maybe, this is it. this here. this now. that's all there is. i wonder if we can agree not to talk about the past or the future & wander through conceptual fantasies with patience. if this were a room we entered, it would have the variegated orange and brown shag carpet of our youth, a broken chair surrounded by abandoned ideas-- crumpled papers and carbon shavings, drafts of handwritten letters, disappointed sketches, vague musings... against bare ocher walls and a sheer curtain sighing like crinoline against a solitary window, soiled with the fingerprints of our attempted gaze. beyond...