I
reckon more pain, a man’s greatest law, while mixture means anguish. —for it must
be a necklace as passed to itself, while red vines might devastate. so unclear
so in a zone while scarlet jewels bleed silver; those days, nay, years,
fiending like elves or robotic such sloth about his mind. a lazy address an
impertinent agenda while best behavior is for those—we consider diamonds. such
a sour apple such a stale pretzel or such a noisy African American. I reckon
more excuses, while it frets normality, as a gift to retrieve closure: by palm
wounds by begging where one never cared for utter happiness: at best, in this
life, we get our dominoes in a row.
we talk like old
comrades we laugh like it can’t hurt, while we hold a chasm so close. I see
determination in a fragrant flower, while I must name such mystery. those eyes
situated so adjacent where they compute in unison; those vacant thoughts or
such lingering passion where a feeling nudges a dying scream; to rejuvenate
excellence, as found in emptiness, while you have never written that way! such
cheeks such skin such ritualistic sacrifice. as mis-fathomed or unclear or
sensing reality has been tucked away. fragile engines or clogged valves where
heaters are lapsing right after warranty.
our streets overlaid
by whispers, while a man has said so little, albeit, some are sketching fire!
