so
tentative or watchful so alert in conversation. the soul to the daughter the
skies to the father while unraveled trying our discourse. to have died in a
person or coming back so displeased—where mother was refuge until it broke
clouds such radiant silence. at grandpa wandering at feelings so cursed while
wildness is too much for strangers. a bond desecrated where trust is void or
colors are plaid while life is its rainbow. but Love was mystic or cures were
jagged while over there, one is jealous. so little in me, to actualize
forgiveness, or to fix an issue in that region. so, more to vanishing or more
to irritability or reclaimed while unclaimed in self; the destitution those
remorseful eyes while so tentative it stands but wobbles.
I ride waves or
doorposts or signals at lights. such furious fire such wrangling souls while it
means so little. true desperate disputes truer eyes to come to comfort so lost
over gentility. a map in me so graded it bleeds while pure conflict comes at
each meditation. surefire disgusts while humans feel terrific a blessing mother
gave us. if but to love or adore or praise a daughter while something sickening
has disrupted by its brilliant division. so low at points with hell skiing in
me or tarmac over his soul. so dark so black so murky—by marsh or mayfly while
it means so little. I get lost in its concentration such strangers as we commit
each other. certain volume certain cries, if but music so sweet a lower
essence. by casual despair to have written by soul while censured by those that
hate Jesus. too much a galaxy or cacophonous frustration as to sense her guts
with such vehement discontent. as disconnected creatures, so raffled to insane
opinions while too normal to like anyone. a private resistance an irrelevant
resistance while a meeting here, a greeting there, as never my facial
appearance, come remedy. by running passages or patches of pavement adored for
draining over cobblestones.
the
scream is a past life the present is a dream the future is unstudied. so much
soil such fire in hell so accused so battered while it lives, it must die. by
cycle to have soul by rhythm of notes so addicted to perception the cult of the
body the liquid in satisfaction or a man must humble self in order to fit
qualities at baffled zones such intuition so much we dislike our breaths. the
voice in you the rain in you the captured wilderness to die again to ask a
question while it destroys our weathers. so slanted so polarized so stuck under
an umbrella—to relive to ask a snail if but to feel so calm the hot pavement
the long day where it took an hour to make three steps. so possessed so attuned
as asked his brains for closure to kneel or pray to sharply react while it was
passive fury. to love or manage love while aeipathy has never been a question.
if to love so many to need a secret while one worries about those spaces. or
hating a man, for no clear reason, or he trespassed a nerve. so irritable so
cagey such lies built an empire—to crumble a nightmare such psychology so much
a misfit. too much to assess you or too familiar to exonerate you while it
becomes so much temperamental oldness. those limestone lights those prints
while manic where one is a bit grand in his appraisals; to uncook a feeling or
to fret suspension as one asked, “Why does it matter?” or writing for freedom
to uncork an issue where color dictates perception—the feud of science those
inferior hunches while self-consciousness makes a person hate you. so much on your side so infused by winters
as one running your race; those powers in our features those minds so wise
while I behave so unwisely. the pain is much the absence is too withering while
fusion is so explosive. the ravaged soul the bending fire or winds trapped in a
box; such needs for conformity such if to appease a stranger while most so much
needs to explode the box. this wooden frustration those steel habits as time
would reveal it was more to hurt me!
