when screams go haywire or topple into sadness
as delivery seems impossible. by outages or clairvoyance so filled with
tomorrow. our lotus destination or distressed watts so fretted such vomit. such
melodrama where we opt-out or strew seeds without tillage. sidereal claims or
at voiceprints while we swear kinship. that scoundrel to dare challenge where
mother would never lie. we feel different in the pool of genetics while some
are not qualified. by wrangling filth where nothing is vetted wherefore it all
seems inauthentic. time or hassles fences or gates while I take the hint. the
pensive songbird. the distant stranger. where we’ll do well, in spite of life.
our fulgent wound. such disturbed logic. it gets easier. the secret is
internal. it becomes perception. by saint-knit eyes or weighed down shoulders
where it seems sufficient: to invite into worlds, where it’s never more, in
fact, it becomes only what I have: such deep pressures, such inconsistencies,
where most are trained in/by dishonesty. one should fall out roll around and
beg for inheritance: just to be told nothing, just to prove wrongness, while
people would stop, stare, or say, “Poor child!.” it becomes its travesty. it
seems like shadows. while one must wonder about our predicament. it’s an easy
thing. it’s my boldness. while it becomes my internalization. the gravity we
carry. the kernels we disregard. where simple bloodwork might set us free.
either/or, while pills don’t work, or no one has an agenda, while we never know
what others are thinking. one would caution pain, for sorrow needs a child,
while we must put misery aside. our plausible excuses, or to speak the
infraction, seduced into relations. not much to utter. not much to redeem. one
is just stuck.
