it starts with
discomfort followed by a yawn where inside a woman is yelling. to wait with
eagerness to panic with pride as wasting a little time. that feeling so close
as to raise us. by walking infinity or mellow by darkness those ghosts—to linger
to grip scripture to need a pleasant passing. a soul might wobble a mind might
wreck while scorched or scraped searching for an immortal screw. those spacy
unsuspecting eyes, those vivid gates with habits coming to pass judgement. our
frantic tribunal our intestines bubbling while most are assessed for intentions—such
temporal hours seated as a witness such salty tears—too adrift to recollect or
too proud to feel essence while argumentation might slip into vacuums. a daughter carrying woes or thrashed
asunder while a person would lean harder. such casualties searching causality
by wrath such swift ecstasy. our modeled enterprises, for Love looks immortal,
while some see unsteady. by jasmine
oils or herbs or balms into winter those leaves such underbrush. those gems or
its account to have answered some darkness—by wickedness to have struggled as
giving more goodness than lasciviousness—the anger it boils so captured while
trying desperately; to need a feeling to run while looking but ghosts those
tentacles they grab or structure or beat sanity. by social diet to die in satisfaction
where it’s more according to conscience. our doctrine flushed into us where
most of America is baptized. such
roaming arts such surreal understanding where most are gripping some sort of
spirituality. as souls bridge forward or social arts so marshal in our dilemma—so
mean it hurts while alienation is lonely so pleased to be walked into the
light. to have lived but incompletely or to tug for last days are too empty. so
much in toleration to remain silent while knowing pure darkness; so much in
Israel or requiring a physician while there seems to live a famine.
