by a windfall or happenstance but never by choice. the gallery of
traumas while a man becomes immortalized such media for a few weeks. so much a
padlock or so sensitive where we see a future in most people. the teapot
whistling the pause interrupted or a person not permitting others to think.
such frightened souls such fearless spirits or so featured sullen a drift!
waiting neatly. we need our rapture. while everybody has spoken this mystery.
it comes by interior it lives in us while a mind might shift any given
minute. I plex a feeling I gather
leaves where a tussock was sweet deliverance. such a grackle cry, such a dimension
where a man writes until it happens! so pictureless or so faceless where I look
at myself and say, “You’re a god.” indeed, I know a few goddesses, they lurk in
the basics, while such spiritual virgins.
the nectar of splendor the addict in there or mother with father upon
air; to unveil a teacher or to deflower wisdom in such a rush to re-kiss
knowledge—the film in Jesus the beats in our genealogy as such shoebills or
caimans. at God with deliberateness so flushed by secrets so battled by blackness;
as creatures running or standing in stillness while police brutality is
ordained by our president. the
keystone those jewels where a man lost something he still adores. but a problem
they suggest to have ruined everything where it took too long to get clarity!
those conclaves where a man repents or silence becomes an aphrodisiac. to have
died in shadows to have known true abuse where we wonder of what happened for
the orphans. a kernel for Love, such education to re-pleat curtains, while
desperation is a man trying to outwit existence. such icebox relations, such
landmark pain, or fire thrown at ethics!
