such
pessimism as it becomes life too low in ditches. sunrise feels natural flowers
are fluorescence a heart beats with cadence. aquarium eyes witness existence.
seatbelt convictions are assaulted. most, at some space, gnaw marshweed. it was
unnatural in us, upon a dovetail, to believe against our science. fluff or
pillows, engines or cotton, more life or pure seclusion. a mosquito listens it
moves with caprice it sees by huge galaxies. (nothing is critical beyond its
space we become experts—in so much an atmosphere our air might complain our
ears might clog.) a door for entrance a surprise reknitted while angst seems
intimate. to meander those days to feel seas while winds hold whispers. our
footpath our gateways while things lose luster—by cheerful indifference if but
to survive we call it blithe. a box holds memories a boy crafts a slingshot a
mother is washing dishes: waiting for news or debating sunrise while many
elements cause for smiles. ink to notes underlines undergirded so secret it feels
identified; by indelible fretting morning screaming breakfast aside a raving
bull. blocks are unwritten. music is invisible. our animosity seems spiritual.
where lips part solemn art so saddened by pure existence. (we live in an age
where problems are more important than tranquility. a person might disappear in
trying solace if but to attain to nirvana: aches in allergies, pain like
cufflinks or discomfort feeling natural.) a home is much more, a house loses
intimacy, a child is a promise. becoming a door made gold by survival such
plush carpet; singing when it hurts renewed just in time or sensing days aren’t
too explicit. a journey as it flutes, familiar undertakings, presumed magnetic
forces. (alert for many, a life with petals, rain gentle upon scalps. reasons
to celebrate beyond sheer perception thankful with anxieties. songs made
effervescent beauty soft in premise our souls believing against literature. or
surrounded by fluffy memories encased in deliberate joys while nothing quite
out-measures pure intimacy.
