I take
breaks or move personality where thoughts are similar: a determined professor,
a partial adversary, a daughter and family, or things thought as
deliberateness. If but to succeed this might enhance realities if but to become
famous; this deep kleptomania this force in our dreams or the hunt for Cajun
roots.
—so
haunted by myself this arrow to targets this dart circling for entrance; a
little rudeness, but this is California, while no one, (maybe children, just
maybe), is more important; the glass of society, the wreck is many don’t see
it, this deep precedence we give ourselves; indeed, a little too gray, a little
too on the nose, while self-depreciation is too hard to carry—
What
becomes balance?
We sense it, we
feel it, where a person is glamour; so tentative at first, so reluctant to
reflect, where unsaid person might become demonized; so captured those seconds,
so deflective those moments, while deep interrogation becomes repelling.
I hold
one in mind:
this more than
ample soul, this anticipation to speak, this courage to exist; to live by fury
or to feel unsung while applying non-intrusion; a strong voice, a masterful
art, where it doesn’t become comfortable; our heart’s language our mind’s
mannikins while guts seem free. Others label, sometimes rightly, but most often
labels protect egos.
“I’ll never
forgive him.”
The reason is
obvious—he hit a button.
While the flute
chants or the mandolin cries, we ask, “Did he lie?”
—the beast does
not rest, we adjust to society, we teach our kids to be humble; or one might
argue, humility is weak, so take and take quickly; this causes an issue, for
intrusiveness isn’t beauty, but many are not compelled by beauty; this internal
category, this ebbing essence, those mental billows; or this spirit-nib, where
foulness is triumph, and semi-bellicose wins its shadows; this exterior
membrance to trigger a deep disdain while one reminds us of those Aries: dates
and peaches, or apricots and walnuts, or almonds and grapes; it becomes our
selection, our morning disbeliefs, over our New York Times; as creatures given
information, while we exploit unsaid information, in such a reality where it
was justified to ream that person—
We have
just started, into
this
project, where nobody is going to feel satisfied!
