we
seem speechless this league of doubters our railways or trains or sour
happiness; by career to exist, or by career the human condition, while
we pine for location—our occasions to scream, our grannies swimming or souls
begging at purgatorial windows; to have died pleading to have rawness of knees or
to long for importance. the future we guzzle our daylight aches while so
absorbed by excellent terror; those weeds near passion or daughters planting
techniques while mothers would watch sky-cleaving-whispers—to see voice speak
or to hold invisibility while dying for us is such sweet justice. an
evenhandedness, something so aloof, as accustomed to weeping by love; our minds
by measure our humility by compassion to lose his post to gain his atlas. such logos
systems or heavier ammunition so pardoned by existence or soon
re-developed—those winds or peering so closely while never such a woman—reused
methods our thrown theorems while a man is searching evidence to place faith
in; but life with purpose or sour sugar or tangy plums: opal eyes or mauve
gowns or violet kindness; to value winning or to celebrate losing if it brings
me to silent hickory. (to feather-feel or mystic dressings while we rarely
analyze names. the banks so formed our meaning quite cheetah after greenness by
moxie.)
