it
was just here in that portal-space at
something
suspicious. to have adored
breakage
or far too yoked while croaking or upchucking where vomit was sweet. such
foolish tempers or pure Fahrenheit while you will not forgive trash:
voiced
or confused, accounted for but lost,
so
gray so treasured while debris is gagging
on
pediments. where deaths
are
suitable, as kittens died this week,
at
something so heinous—those wrinkles in participation, those whispers this
Jewish community, so cured it aches, or so pure no one quite cares; this
acceptance
parachute, those cold hazel eyes,
where
loving seems irrelevant. but
a
cylinder in reverse, or days at breath, if torn we seal, if broken we grab
glue, but raw is economic depression: our consumers dying, our babies
impassive, our existence—defacto.
