there
are social ghosts. there is horseback rain.
if
looking hurts, we notice more, or we rot.
I was
nervous to exist or captured by a witch:
by
daring grace by restless zeal by ink in pain.
minds
are debating. anxieties are unleashed.
where
souls are floating, amid centuries, as
time
is flippant. it would happen by fire, as
addled
creatures, those delicate scars, or so at
senses
so many twigs, facing raw cymbals. I
answer
our skies. I tell a story. I’ve learned to
re-vet…for
days are motion, brains are darting,
in a
split instance, society is in jeopardy.
a
socket supports enchantment. a soul is dealt
a
cord. it seems one’s duty to maintenance it.
