it was a mirror. I gazed in by repulsion.
something had to change. a man will feel like dung with a woman so cold where
people need further abasement. I cup a palm of sand. I look upward. this is
where I must return. so abandoned, weary over soil, such to touch a tree. by
mental weeders addressed with heaviness while a soul carries boulders. Love was
fraught by anguish. she had under a dozen acquaintances. it was a feeling that
drives inconsistencies. (by deaths during lights or courage during failures,
these define a man.) I was beyond stupid. it was asinine, it was. but something
needed its goodness. (we sense unlikely fortunes so conflated while we pass on
by.)
water
clashes into rocks. a face is jutted into its miseries. a little boy is
screaming at his father. a mother watches, such a clear creature, while
configurations never speak to virtue. a man needs what he can’t carry. a woman
wants what she can’t give. where good sense asks, “Are not some people happy?”
I
sat on a brick a wall north of me a candle melting softly. such by force if to
escape with foreign warriors killing sages: those privileges we eat, those
drugs we favor, those bee-hives up on high. it was dear attraction. while some
are embellished. where a man will label one as anti-human. she sees thunder.
she recaptures senses. she envelopes something I project. such futures by
ingredients, or such presence by infatuation, while hope for eternal chains: as
it saunters to paradise, or a need to outwit helium, so afloat so studied while
we suspect pure literature.
we
sew plants where we watch, there’s majesty in their growth. we knit traits. we
alter personalities. in truth, we efface a bit of our providence. a man is
destined to endure uncertainty. or a woman’s pride in her look alike. by a
pyramid those Egyptian women, where it might not mean union. so, tell it to
scrolls, or feel the great rift, but only surrender when it pictures
accordingly: those rebuilt engines, or it ignites morality, or it understands
by ought or maxim.
