so
inward it screams so mystic the planet is crooked. the gods of mine, they fell
last night, our personalities drowned. I met that woman so cursed it felt
romantic so heinous it collapsed; her golden flowers her treacherous beauty
while Love was cadence in glory. so realized so uncaptured as soil becomes
blood; the laughing fire those railway giggles so much like me: the madwoman
those shores receding our turtles running to oceans. as better halves or unspecific liars or so loyal it hurts to ponder dreams—those tales those trails as a man deceased in a living galaxy. so mystic or so esoteric while it means so little—these ruling standards those skies
depleted
where a nothingness man becomes scientific: our sizes our America while women
are going ballistic; such signature sorrow such dalliance such dear confliction.
brown smoky cries or vocals such subtle frames a soul’s palette so delicate; to
have mystery to engage so independently where thoughts are finished; so insync
such rapturous beings so haunted by our cadence—those
eyes speak it becomes terror as a soul hungers for misery. such repaired furnaces while it might awaken or creep or become its torch; the torque of the valley the age of those wolves or coyote horizons—those wild dogs as they roar in agony a tiny increment of our
essence; our sawdust woes our seaward screams as wilderness in an empty race—those pantomimes rehearsing our tragedy while silence has become comedic; for they don’t stop, it mainly increases, those troubadours live to dispense the saga.
as
souls enlove or jaded while needing progeny or wrath internal those piccolos
such violence. becoming for you or running from you while a man looks, gets
nervous, and returns to familiar tragedies. mind photos or unearthed realism
where a soul shifts wailing his travesties.
