Dearest
Garden—those huge walls while water drips in scores. I have felt unbelieved or
cadged at cages such precious honesty. such shadows into a man’s penumbra where
algae have thickened; such coarse vibrations or years at cadence while
breathless for her imagination. by softer skies or ailment alienation so
crooked it becomes straight lines. (I know you listen where remedy is uncouth
or animals pledge their credence—as prided sons or wilderness daughters as
swept with tempo; allegro in motion pains in guts or whispers from
something without tolerance.
it has been neat or something to celebrate where a person makes mistakes. as further into social-soot, or measured as defacto, where breath doesn’t determine respect; it’s an earned income or a day’s wages by nectar or quality or something for other souls.
such raw feelings or guilty emotions where a man must ignore to a great extent: those existential winds, those perfect requirements, while Love might be a mess.
by stitching to sense envious seams while much attention has been commandeered.
it would be gentle for us but rage in them while essence would unravel concrete. it behooves others if we never come together, for duplicity is so rich.
you might unbolt a box. it may break free wailing. where fury cascades upon all those innocent people. but this is a dream, or a mistake, where true love is often silent. such paradox or dissonance or unsure, but certain dispositions. (to laugh with me, to charm me, while knowing you’re the reason why I ache, bleed, or die.)
