I see your face.
it was bitter sweet rain. a man never knows enjoyments. so deceased in you so
much to roses in you too vacant too unfound such a filthy artifact. I would
dream while I noticed you were at war. it was cello or flute to master an
approach—so dear a melody so churned while something given, it never goes away;
to find hatred as if purity was undressed such a radical grandparent. I would
float as if on high so many terrors the art of the haunted house. as softer
essence too unexplained to reach while something is goodness. (what happened?
was he vicious? for some anomaly has occurred.) a dozen miracles a large trash
bag as filled with raw experience; as it must be pain but this is theirs while
they love an innocent vampire. by darker rooms or never-ending desks or
computers deciding one’s stability; so leftist or so right-winged or so
neutral. by disarray purely disheveled a person too wild to celebrate; a
nuisance such irritability as left with nothing but wounds. by welkin prayers
by interior kernel or cleaving to a false keel; such undercurrent trauma in
some person while one is hated for deciding against death. irritant bites as
attached to karma to do wrong as living eternal; the curse of the dahlia
or the blessing of the venom, so close, it aches to know your rhythm; so many
as it means nothing so devastated as something, it can’t be given. from city to
city. the same outcome. while so much inside it oozes out. (by terrific silence
by trance into spaces or rivers in offices those tapered tapestries those
hectic havens to have nothing but needs for crooked skies. so enlove it seems
natural, or so at it something remains distant or so blessed one is never
caught: sour contradiction, or ill-gotten excellence, so close you know how to
deceive me.)
it becomes a gamble but it’s so widespread we sit in
uncertainty. out of thirty men, ten shall die, so we hug like losing a father.
out of five men, four shall be infected, so we admonish like Jesus is coming.
it was angst in vases upon one petal. it was freezer burns or tight nets while
awake a man was napping. a lady was so neat so determined but her muse was
damaged; so much essence in mire so many ignored mayflies such a man condemning
his rose; as running into shadows so dark its image such features for a man
begging Jesus; but what is it, what have I ran from, or better, how much has it
blessed me? surefire puddles or an unlucky cheetah while we never pass
judgement. so close to feelings so dear we need eternity while so pure we watch
every step. so much innocence or a dry well while we marvel over what
happened.
