I
learned to fly. it’s a private enterprise. its taste is sweet vinegar. such
maple we cry if but to feel loved while missing ingredients. to gaze at her
while she seems aesthetic where reality would fret bones. I disappeared it was
pain so bound so ridiculous.
something
to us this typical friction while two must change in likeness. (so pictorial
made into identity as men wrestle with pictures: the standing mirror; the
indifferent ceiling; or those loud ass walls—into rooms or tombs where a desk
sits in middle of a park.
to
give more or to ignore behaviors where a parent is most excellent: mother would
giggle or play essence where a violin sat atop the roof.)
I
do not know redemption. but I feel redemption. where I pose a question: must
totality exist to lay claim to a quality? those riddles! but if love is
partial, is it mine; if redemption is deciduous, can we lose it? to this latter
question, with all of its reach, the answer is, no!
to
obtain grace is to keep grace where punishment, existential predicament, are
always components.
we
drift on purpose. we sip milk or use creamer if to adorn coffee. this is true
of existence. we sip experiences. we zoom with intuition.
I
was so unsteady it was peculiar while it left its impression.
a
man tries harder. he devastates his image. he changes his attire. where a woman
is conscious, she looks at herself, this is done while interacting in an arrangement.
such a circle such a battle while some have difficulty in something so
predictable.
I
could go into caves rereading ideographs while curious about a lady where
something feels normal.
or
a daughter in her life while she knits her skies to relive in each second or to
restate principles where the compass is such a dream.
so
idealistic so distinct so strong in position; the last tear the last anger as
alive in a given second: the unfair secret these ditches in the forest while
genetics reach beyond a given flame.
