by soulsome problems too much toil listening by twain voices — to depend on her to splice in metaphysics so ignored by mirrors. they try language or encourage opulence insomuch as reflecting injustice — for it isn’t us it can’t be features so confused in midnight fusion. the beauty of its battle those rattles hissing so much by spirit-noose. too afar to claim it, too close too much shame while angered — as never by behavior as a positive compass while expecting nondisclosure.
but
back into recesses as a reclusive essence it was war with thought-demons; a
state of mind or smelted metals as accursed for existence; those hazel bullets
such machinery while most have stolen some instrument — as needed so embodied a
cut in his screams — where fire flamed as gutted gears so stripped of science.
so hurried, while waiting, anything is better — some lie atop a capstone such
pash for ignorance — the blue ship those teal cries as afloat a catch, where he
caught himself — as flying higher to come to tears sudden to awaken still dreaming.
what brainwork
such brainstorming, as to imagine it thought so clearly; a maniac in control
where it vitiates “maniac” in a realm scrambling for happiness. to need more to
hustle for more such a struggle to feel complete. a pair of feelings as
opposite cousins while warring internally. or racing for closure something too
close it weeps with us; our mental galaxy our conscientiousness as souls
centered in disbelief. rolling passed madness, it looks interesting, we must
investigate it: How has it lost touch? Why is it broken? How do I experience
it? some bullfight some manicured advice while it came from self. a squalid
agenda a dear mistake or abused in a land so inescapable. some trademark
something in ruins so treacherous and beautiful. to imagine reception, such
deep feelings, while I can’t become that person. the outdoor mind versus secluded
minds, where most claim orthodox: such sweetberries, by brains a kitchenette, with
memories at a deadlock.
at a haystack
searching for essence where such is invisible. at a fork deciding directions or
feeling desolate. such unreasoned suns such underbelly souls addicted to
wildweeds. if taught it might change if one isn’t beyond teaching.
