I
uninvite self, ditches to guts or swings to passion so forced to die-pits or
cushion for a padded room while foulness performs a grave afar my sepulcher.
the paper has margins I write therein I am restricted from its center. the sky
is bleeding ribbons daughters are catching rubies where a man watches with
unbelief. interior pantomime ghosts, if to decipher feelings, so curt with a
walking, nay, chasing mirror. I look back or hack with pliers while it’s reborn
by morning. (it seems irregular where the villain rationalizes.) by aches into
feathers where mother owns the catacomb. I would to breaths like sudden seconds
to freedom if but passed my papers. fabric or fire or fields, assessed as
animals where liberty becomes ink. a nimbus for an omen, a daughter for his
illness, or a scandal for a Mega Church. by fertile beliefs so convicted it
becomes a threat, while every man needs with desperation. but a piccolo in cold
weather, but academia for Sun Lake, or ego whispers tugging at the super-self.
a collage a mystery a feeling or a little exhaustion. our listlessness,
comparing and contrasting, where we fever in a given direction. a Vizzy to
chill. I clove while eerie. but a theme for sacrifices. the genre in me. those
waves at pavements. or mental vows seeming irrelevant. to re-exist. at adders
or faith. so close to a vignette portrait.
