I was
baptized so early, so, screaming inside is natural. such fresh disasters so
cursed where survival is habit. those dreams you had when it was elastic before
pure disappointment. but something is partial it remembers while passions are
enormous. I dislodge such a vessel where silence is therapeutic. but Love would
need interaction something there as partly left to self-redemption. where I see
it, I cringe it, while people are singing, “We are humans!” I have known feelings or quite intimate
with emotion while realizing nothing shifts like skies. outside near the wheelbarrow, aside the
mattock, lies a pitchfork. I see division while art is arbitrary in a land celebrating
fancy. but tender souls suffering a drought soothing a dirge or digging by hopes.
to dredge up ghosts or to raid cargo our boxy mandates. such stuttering spirits
or unclassified data while we examine our present condition. if but to slip gravel such abstract
reality where I sense it doesn’t matter. a person dies, so unresolved, while
others say, “You did all that you could do.” so trite! but such a go-to! while
we aren’t truly concerned. out back,
close to a redwood tree, we have buried a box. inside is a dead lizard, a
golden tablet, plus, three coins. I give you this, for most of our developments,
while many are asking about The Great Rift Valley. such blizzards or diamonds where you know
deaths. it came by force it was so disloyal it opened something through
pressure. but unforgiveness is on
board. so, I stand at the barrier. while across the fence seems unhappy.
indeed, a few smiles or a drug while this is living. our mental atoms our spirit-lounges while
some things feel unnatural. we have a
notion but it appears by fantasies where tangibility is mindstuff. so, laboring
is by altruism, as never by reception, where anger is pivotal.
