so blind with silence so cured by hysteria
with such darkened shame. a thimble on fire, or a cover upon skies, with dear
deeper inferiority. to adore those women so easygoing while society raged
against harmony. the dead man preaching, the living man disgraced while so many
anomalies: the need for division or the want to feel better such psychic
assumptions. such jamesia emotion or phlox passion or peony eyes. those chaos
forests the manipulating meadows at roses set aside caskets. if but to soar
where miracles are beautiful in such an affair of winnings. to give with
penalty or trust so abandoned while a soul took advantage. it was private but Love
incurred violence while a man accrued karma. so offkey such broken
pianos while daughters are composing symposiums. the man with sights, those
women with visions, where I churn for a female president.
by
purpose our survival by roots our suppositions where Love has a hypothesis. our
eggs on cotton our seats on disrespect where Love never confirmed attraction.
such dragon eyes or cavelike fires so majestic so archaic or subterranean
solitude. those men damaged while most need beliefs if but to cure something
uneasy. to imagine empty space. a soul sitting in silence. to conclude a
riveting desire for something, anything, by Dear to God the need for security!
it
came to its end. those memories by intense mania. where they stick or damn a
rational inclination. such beautiful confusion or triumphant novels while
attempting to outwit our last miracle: to find spaces to lose assumptions where
so close to truth the world hates clarity.
the
mirror is talkative, even a lying jackass, but it only reflects perceptions—so,
to what end is such anger? we deserve even softness, or havens, where only so
many have earned it. our polemic is us. our schism is understanding. where most
people never chastise self. (we feel shame, indeed. we blame self, indeed. but
we often wiggle free.) such evolution such an internal deflector but error
replaces actual healing.
