against
clocks, into great grandfathers, into soil or ash or pain. to die wilderness to
kiss skies so subsumed in wishes. as we live, it has been hectic, resistance has
become normal.
it
seemed inconsequential as we all listened until violence came to surface—reestablished,
pure honor, where if we must fail, we need dragons.
ideals
shift or certain women appear, where she was ecstatic at those times.
such
nomadic women such pure fire some inward place in Egypt.
over
virtual reality such deeper essence while we do what’s necessary; to arouse
some goblin or to escape some polygraph, with eyes plunging our expectation. so
smothered by us such sweltering flame, if but to arise as one state of
challenges. an unloved violin or some forest inside, if but terrific we die
together.
to
watch a platypus to dwell in filth where interiority is drab, plus, bleak.
over
Dom Perignon tucked in perception—she has become every woman. Whitney is softer,
into some blizzard, freedom seems debatable.
such
snow-hearts or gelid brains, in fact, so extreme in coldness. to need beauty as
forfeiting beauty while some are by deficit of beauty.
if
but an exorcism to seize demons to cage instability. (a pomegranate near dust a
creature near dust or so much to exercise our minds; those tender weeds as
tumbling through cities where it was death in its beauty.)
we
burst a pinata we looked intently something wilder has taken my space. by
rumination, as defined medically, such days have been colder.
such
turquoise eyes such Dominican holiness in some sacred space.
to
have desired Exodus if but for freedom—too removed from ambition in me!
