it
looks like luggage. it comes by difficulty. it’s an elusive hydrant. to ask a
man for instruments, or islands, or to use his kettle.
we
invest in keys, those theorems, we need something: it chances, we reach, while
inwardness eludes us.
I
held a ladybug. I re-needled a mask. but I removed my hat.
she
looked with fear. she presented oils. I walked into shambles. those rusty knees
those metallic feelings those rib-deep knifes. but knots or storages or illegible
calligraphy. to become countenance-language.
while
behavior is monitored. we look closer at strange gestures.
so
in need of
structure.
so refilmed in thoughts. but memoirs or love letters.
what
is harmony in soul?
it
features around commonality. what use is solitary peace, or becoming
non-public?
those
juice packs, those rice bowls, or knowing too trenchantly to reveal.
a
palm of leaves. an interior lift. some type of liquid.
(how
do we court ourselves?)
we
entered a lunchroom. we ate but energy. it was wise to understand by anchor.
those hooks in soil those screams at guts or roaring while uncontained.
trumpets
announced prayer.
trombones
announced meditation.
pain
announces healing.
I
pilfered a taste of agony. I loved her curvatures. so sweet with death so
glorious in affection at some crude sunshine.
I
ruffled interior I sang silence I posed or wailed tyranny.
storehouse!
