the
shovel sat in silence it was violent those years it had a master. we wobble
through fog aligned in droves our brains shackled shelters. an endless contagion
a winded city or wood chucks painted in green water. so much mental television
as it replays its pictographs such internal alienation; to have died in color
so opalescent such demons in feelings. some fable about essence some pain in
addresses while old homes are filled with wraiths: the molestation, a woman’s
third assault, or the infant with colic. these are insignia such fever such
scarlet letters; where Rome is burning, souls would survive, or components
become misconstrued—by witness of our ghosts by wilderness of our forests or
treading damp swamp.
a man created his rumor such as it
appealed to his senses while truth was at the haunted house. people heard gusts
as they soared it was deep cadence by faraway silence. a reputation was ruined,
black water was ingested, a crocodile crawled into his face. such dear passion
as needing screams where most are refighting Covid-19. by infrastructures by
silence by men enlove with resistance; about living in ink or reviving in
paints such murals upon our happy skies. pure indifference as neither for you nor
against you, but I hope it works out!
a woman put breasts in airs or
confused alienation with salvation where many are advocating for gregariousness.
too opaque for mainstream, or too bold for a message, while most of us have
pawned our morals. by sapphire necklace by jewels in souls or by everything
closeness might provide. such roaring intimacy such bodies as comfy where
believing in someone is made delicate. sweet holy fire into generational
happenstance—it took so long to be considered human!
sour thrumming. sour picketing.
where many teenagers are now pioneers. to have lived in a state so filled by
malice where a man might suggest divine destiny. in truth, each desires
closure, syrupy morning dew, or an opportunity to witness humanity.
