dear essence — the blue moon those fevers so much a gagster in us; those sunbeams the seatless ride the seatless seatbelt — as floating in a land or rushing into seas the skyline in our brains. what have you undergone? it crushes to imagine as terror struck while guts pleaded an unstable world. to teeter by disconnection so much a composition as moments seem filled with indifferent habits — those mind-octopuses those rising seahorses as so affected/changed by aesthetics — as a claimed creature roaming a claimed body while love of wife is realer than love of parents.
so much into rhythms so lost in a daze while so managed as noting normal responses — (the feeling I sin is the response one needed, where I wonder of why I would care) — such a thought so unsocial where isolation has been a pleasant excursion) — the mother as dying if but another practice to lose essence in one so unembodied from home.
she underwent a nightmare. brooks were sweet. determination undressed. so close, or actually nonresponsive so despondent while a long-life stranger was discomfort — those rounds with self, the whisper it couldn’t become those horizons I ride at sunset.
metallic instincts at metal forces so ushered into relationality: so relative such decomposition, or so normal those concerns feel unwarranted.
by disconnect by somewhat apathy by criminality against something trying to breathe; those mountains those rivers those estuaries: a parakeet at a knee, a fenced lioness at an exposition, or compact soil the wrung soul while so strong so removed it only relies on its final portrait.
the mannequin feeling, or the meme (as a psychologist put it), where I feel guilty of something hectic, for it wasn’t planned—while to have essence, while manipulated for essence, as to turn on essence—the gray skies the crooked moon, where most need things pleasant or smooth or a non-interference: black blooded or brilliance bonded, to bathe in breakage.
so at ease, it worries some, where most are uncomfortable—the need the demand of surefire familiarity—as needing intuition where it has blossomed to listen to her first essence.
the maze in a man the cage in a daughter the world to a family. as explosive wits a fluid vocabulary while aside for writing one must hide. so rude of life as to assess life strictly by how we respond—those gates such jousting or jetting into an atmosphere; a right turn a need for resurrection or such a second to decompress self.
such rancid feelings or staring for seconds while we stress so much to become another essence.
it
promises nothing, it seems insecure, while something, the gagster, is
delivering constant observations.
so unseasoned or so undercooked or too much a light as it rechanneled its antenna: our impolite observers or are heart scarring observers while it wasn’t what it became—it wasn’t thought through, but one would rather have existence than watch from clouds.
so unnecessary or things I fail to know where Love was incorrect or a daymare while most need something too perfect to need assistance: it’s an easy life it sides with excellence it stands close in hope of being seen in that light.
mind
fellowship or mind absence where reality becomes phantasmagoria.
innocence or gritty pain of the sunrise or too much to enter the shadow.
interior or upholstery at deep sky-earth so vacant the lots are full. some window as in some fiberglass those months where it was seen for its content but feared for its potentiality. to tiptoe wires to dwell in confliction or so vocal people take notice: the silent soul as creating something beautiful while raiding an extra-dominion somewhere so relegated.
as a creature claiming habits or forming understanding while most of us are passive uncertainty: the cure in expedience, or the radiance in purity, while one might have a filthy closet. “but issue is them. issue is over there. so, please concentrate other than on me.”
