the divine descriptor, the dearth, and the disposable

Her message said divine and I believe we can agree that to be an extravagant word choice and indicative of a sense of frivolity not apparent amongst the general population (perhaps .5%). And why do you suppose frivolity is so rare? Because it is most often met with indifference, a two shouldered shrug, anathema to the prime (primal?) inherent quality that demands a playmate for existence. And so frivolity comes to be starved out of existence amongst the general population and, when weeds of it sprout here and there, trampled by boots of arrogance and impatience, and then further ridiculed by intellectual know nothings. So forgive me for rejoicing this slight brush with this sweet lotion as I say frivolity is art squared, and, unfortunately at present, out of mine own reach.  

But all is not lost: I would mock you, good form (or superstition) be damned. I would rent a sky banner and fly it all day outside my many windows (windows you would blacken; smear dry ugly soot in such shapes as to cause utter complete dismay, failure, sleep),

But all has not left: I would love you (the dances the grinding the compression) like the scar across my chest: the wound the reminder the exhortation the debt that must be paid because the Great Usurer must always be paid and on time. I will fly outside my windows my many windows. One day soon you will see. Our dance then complete.

I walked among you yesterday and did nothing more than notice: your sacks and carts and bedding, your defeated posture. And that I did not detour or divert my eyes makes me more than the many? I suppose. But what I should tell you is that I have been closer to your bench than you might imagine and I have worn your clothes and your look. So long ago it seems now. Another lifetime or someone else's life? What is indisputable: I was at least as human then as now, likely more. So bless you and rest well.