it
becomes sad weather or coarse reality while souls are elated; such dripping
egos by evil sparks where panic rises without permission; by tales or falsehood
by parents or insensitivities so cursed at borderline blessings. terrycloth
blouses or such demure with a symbol, a nail, on the tabletop. pure briny seas
the benthic elements while palming an octopus. sure rich pavement or bleeding
asphalt while fleeing to prison: such rare dysfunction so ripe its rage while
an addict might hate its reflection. “It’s but a beer. It’s but a couple. Well,
I never get drunk, anyway.” by engineering as mech machines we might sense or
see our reflection. “It’s but a pill. I need to concentrate. I can’t stand this
light.” but we know something, something harsh or cold, something ruling
behaviors. we need convergence or metanoia or jamesia aches so close to clouds
so far from self with dear regrets or frustrations or envies. we clash with
dial tones we play with kaleidoscopes or we act like pantomimes—while one is
equipped, we watch her, but something propels such confident courage. to
forthwith into relations while jealous of fury while it took death to grant
life. something biblic though you dislike it I wonder has it been dissected. we
see agoutis as souls relax where it was internet distraction. such warm palms
such deep ideograms while fleeing into a talisman—the moon speckled while it
seemed pure insomuch an utter disappointment.
I see why people
unveil by a creature where others ask, “What the hell was that?” we get tired
of obvious disregard. we seem to need clarity. where one isn’t on their
agenda. as to lose, for if I afflict one, it’s not his place to add new rules.
they don’t apply in a given situation, but you win me on this playing-field. as
granted, we edit our response, we keep our tone we fret its response. something
seeming innocuous, for lies are natural, where ideals have gone haywire. we
expect a polygraph person, as something inherent, as pure fire or living testaments
or some pure, outstanding entity.
