(I
have a guess.) some say humans are good — at some undisclosed metaphysic. I have
no qualm with that, or I fathom morals are awkward they mean differences in
people.
one dies first another submits first or we desire comfort couches.
(I will drift by tornado spinning into sinning.)
humans try to control other humans.
some better way than doctrine; some need for virtue in others; humans become contrition or songs or birds upon wires. soft cadence or distinct harshness while exposed to un-soft adjectives; so rhythmic a curse to find an impasse as it requires a changing; sweet volume ignored ears trying something similar; each crime a reservoir each puddle a tear, while convinced change is unnecessary.
I drift. I recite. I come to something unfulfilling.
those gates those swords while vying to pass.
such desirous pressure so muffled by fair match some nocturnal evidence. rivaled by sunbursts or drastic preconceptions while marriage is hypothetical.
our moons bleeding into concrete while most desire all things: tender beauty, multiple flowers such grace in deception; a yes person, a need-me-person, while discontent with hostilities; to pray a person if but to adore humility while so absent it means longing.
I listen or parcel thoughts while ashamed of my supposition.
we must define goodness. what is its roots? how to know if I have arrived? it sounds like religion, in a carbonate, something I need if it relates to my wants.
what challenges an instinct? how have many behaved? what is a mirror’s harmony? I drift. I seize a chill. I have a presupposition. it required experience, it took years, but it arrived by postal waves. something I can’t say. something I won’t say. something we see in our voices. the open skull, those green feelings, while many lost innocence. but Love is fragile or delicate so she must be holy. such a need for damn near disbelief, such a craving for full submission, or so much a need for mistreatment. so maladjusted so dysfunctional while we never ponder such openness. such discomposure such heat in flames so much a furnace asking unbeknownst to vocals. sheer fire by adoring like winning to arise where evidence destroys confidence.
rounded wounds or implied inference while saying each is sickness becomes ostracism.
but Love makes adrift.
I want something normal, something we agree is normal;
those ideals we cleave to those reasons we exist, to find humans need a person to breathe with;
someone ecstatic someone charming someone dedicated to keeping by happiness:
soreness by desire, legacy by memoir, sight seen passion.
(I have a supposition). it becomes a jaded man. it sings to roosters. such sacred vines such succulent grapes such a bruised reed. to find in location, an avenue for many, where rosy berries are crucified. a delicate drug, an infant’s toy, where raspberries are but a mirage. a sea of deserts a bottomless burial an ocean of skeletons. what have we desired? if not everlasting greenness — if not trembling with tremors such amazement our souls speak before we gaze. (my supposition is unfortunate.) it requires inference, it requires posits, one must postulate.
