may the beat give courage or collar-passion
or something bigger than yesterday. to resecure life or to harm self, so
addicted to dangers. I was galling myself such annoying by habit those colors
fantastic. to remind us about something black & white where it becomes
gentle catastrophe. I catch television moods or surreal reality where I need
those elements I push away. by dear infirmity those dear instincts or society
as one great performance.
we sacrifice our dice our brains our
pumice maxims. we forfeit our aptitude we mimic gray reflections we unwillingly
auction off souls.
such rear treasures such circus adrenaline
by overshadowed identities.
I
heard a lawnmower. it was midafternoon. I’d been analyzing the ceiling. so many
feathers, all scattered about, we scramble to build wings. each a dynasty or an
unsung spirit or nomadic gypsy. the
old tavern is so much, as a sip takes an hour, or comforts seem difficult to
un-churn. like kindling hay or unraveling feelings, both polish as
repercussion. such lavender sidewalks or asphalt eyes sullen beneath cyan
concrete.
a
person, maybe two, or three, such off-colored debris & confetti behavior!
the frost of a woman or the hate of reflection while one needs a bulwark.
what
becomes by roots of—speech, belief, or composure? the education of cultures or
beauty for one but ugliness for another. our breaths our odors or a clean/clear/inkless
picture. those hard-worked angles or maps cleaving to geology while something
appears too complicated. but an aesthetic womb while so adoringly where it
ignites passionate lust: those canyon hawks, or wilderness eagles, or the city
falcon.
so
haunted by anomaly. or tapped by genetic gods. where many are immortalized:
those photos, those memories, or restudied passages throughout global reach.
