Sky Frame

(you sit in webs or perceived rulings situated at a cliff.) you deceive mirrors or feel emotion as something un-rightly managed. the fans are in brains those windmills are aching while dead cows are mooing. our serious anxieties if but one solution while many sacrificed patience and set a torch to negotiations. I am this man, where pictures scream or tendencies are combative. so early while depleted. a woman drained me. imagine a nine-year-old therapist.

the cliff is apathetic, it ruins with time, and we must walk away. indeed, so rightly said, so early in minds, where brains regurgitate wishes: to possess happiness, such raw irony, where hell has become so privileged: a man at his guts, a neglected list, while it doesn’t matter much: the sirens are laughing, those films are rotating, while a rule is lonely when discarded.

it

sours a little, framed by sagas, many of us deciding against evidence.

such money quarters such disregard where it never meant anything. “It was routine, it stuck around, so it was burned and cast away.”

            (if but an apple to answer devastation where simplicity must be analyzed; but an email, where it all came out, while two held it as unadvertised laughter.) most appear angry, or defensive, where absolute mirrors cause outrage. I now know this, as rummaging through laundry, where one asked: “What the hell are you doing?”

            you

study principles. you learn maxims. one day silence will epiphanic.

            many unspoken axioms, or this tired procedure, while I drift by cadence: beauty concrete, or overpowering abstracts, or comparisons followed by contrasts—at blues with beer or sober sitting still, or concentrating where it’s interrupted; those rhinestones those crystals those lies we repeat while breaking essence during shower time; clumped and craving, unclear and begging, while returning means one returns to you; or never a hug or never a clue while asking for too much; for life is happy or life is perfect, where people are not attempting to go further.

            (there lives a spirit, it grew from water, it roams the lands; it’s huge or effervescent it dines in the synaptic gaps it’s both identifiable and invisible; it becomes science it arises during devotion it uses pain as segue; it will enter and analyze it will actuate those few secrets you carry; it will decide essence it will lead hands or it will rave over something consequential; it will laugh or honor horizons or deceive while it sounds so clear; it will not speak, it will appear as a hunch while you will annunciate its wisdom.) such esoteria while it happened so early where seeds were strewed; for existence is immaterial but such materiality at this spirit-zeitgeist; our internal receptors by clause or provision while we respond to familiarity; if it looks like essence, if it sounds like language, while so many are now unsteady; those breaking points where some are more resilient, into cages and crevices or chaos; but it seemed so normal, it identified with me, it seemed so trusting. (I imagine it will silence or it will allocate or it will disappear; for one is situated while life is incomplete but what would it give? Would it elevate? Would it be peaceful? Would it augment your joy? Or would it be too controversial to carry?)