so
much those sun lakes, or sweet violet rondelets, or somewhat an identity. to
churn silence or feel concentration or maybe a study in physics. as delicate
souls or future religion if to awaken universality. I was mean to flowers, I cussed
by gardens, expecting the petals to pardon me; the lioness watched or reneged
where logic was ranting and raging at reason.
I’m trying dearly if but to escape the hypocrite if
but to become the water bearer.
it
seems unlikely or strange to imagine humans as sources of joy: our casual nonchalance
or our needs for thorough compassion where lack thereof induces a scorpion. or
lackluster eyes by uncut sorrow while something is at our throats.
I was mean to a ram for it was mean to me while now it
has become active irritation.
I
knew the virgin from way back we used to hang with twins but rumor so wretched
divided such impertinence. I have tried more this difficult task where
negativity is burying sentimentality: our mawkish pathos our interior
customs while daughters are storing mythos. if but to reclaim those
proclamations, if but to regroup those first 72 hours, while most are aware a
monster dwells there.
I
see something problematic in a world studying values while conscience tells a
certain story. such charity for beauty such unstudied interior or too wise to
move unsteadily; to adore a neighbor or to love a colleague so much
glass-promise such dear intimacy those scars we attempt to veil. indeed, too
much this way or so much over there while the key is something we miss with
time; that crime against femininity or an ache raw its masculinity where not by
choice but innate habit. so much in desire or so temporary while most do not
redeem the interior voice; that tone so exploratory, that feeling so unwrapped,
while a little thought there couldn’t disable chains.
we come to controversy our serious issue when two
cherish or worship their union.
I
was seated in me while looking oblivious where there wasn’t an ingredient. but
stew was boiling or simmering the sweet aroma or the kitchen’s aura.
so
much condescension or vinegar for interaction or therapy awakened something
grooming its reflection: a comb for clarity or precious hair removal while
habitual concerning an interior detective.
or more to whereabouts a sinner watching or something
reformed studying.
our
dreams never meshed, our hearts would commune by chance, while we see some
possess deep security. such remedy at times when sadness strikes if but to
glance over at someone sensitive.
or so many attributes they spell infinity they unbuckle
the sweetest taboo.
