those
mimes they play pretend such inordinate succession. by mind to have seen you,
or courage to endure you, where every gesture becomes mother. at film or philharmonics
such a gentle flower so intense where women defy physics; such a cave so
ignoble while pure addiction. sore frames as raw mechanics into atmosphere.
sure metaphysics as a man might die to come back into running arms. sheer blood
of our lions, sheer feet of our cheetahs, as time would kneel in her honor. I thank
you for discomfort, I engage you in irony, where a man learned by his lonesome.
but dear deaths or prescribed silence if but to attract a number of gnats. such
incredible angst such radiant anxieties as days morph into minutes. such meraki or metanoia at tender
discouragement; as a photo in a heart or a square in a diamond where we fawn
over celebrity—by arch to arrive by woman to
survive where we
discount their prowess. by relaxed classics by raging guitar or seated so
closely to our number one hope; but a woman so treasured if but our anguish
while too remote to fish for; a compass in its blood or a reminder to pray
while a child is filled with kindness.
I would adore with legacies those pipes in our sewer. so bizarre so
incapable where two loved liked dying was necessary. our aging bodies our
depleted wits where we learn to accept the one we
adore. it gets ironic, our men as
women, our women as men, or our daughters wrestling a dark space. I sense pure
alienation, such firm ostracism, but distinguish self assertion from mother
irony. so many meerkats or fluffy wilderness while many purchase ferrets. as
abandoned to a feeling, so killed in an instance, while life is rescued by one
tender response. true fables. truer pain. to again with love!
