the race is simple those lights are out where an older lady walks, – the sidewalk is filthy painted with names but no one remembers. the poolhall is boarded up. the recordshop is closed. the liquor store ran out of short cans.
Love
is raw or manacled or off in temperature.
nothing
seems in order. while many claim orders. like life was made this way. but Love
is doing bigger as living stronger while sensing her purpose.
we
suggest a formula, if followed it works, if not, we start again. (some love
others.)
hills in cities such gross injustice
while close enough to stay away.
what do we want?
I have no idea right here.
but looking for later so cautious
where living is near cabins. it can’t work, it never relates, while one
suggests pain is a choice. if dead it doesn’t work. if hampered, it might work.
if breathing, it will come back. what property such winds as in a second to
make a decision?
if soothing discourse we might go
lower while it hurts to see a smile. boxed lessons or boxed lullabies with
boxed expectations. the box is tearing the box is bleeding the box is ruined. I
feel naked I need my box I can’t exist without this damn box!
sorcery!
unthought about
meanings, as trusty rules, such unknowable, deliberate brick walls.
gates or iron or framed aesthetics.
to seize sublights or ask godparents, with the father looking captured. for (only
in scrutiny does it seem ridiculous.)
do we love correctly? if so, is it
our fault – the moon is ill the sun has the flu, astrology is unaligned? they
will frame many, or pigeonhole many, or plain retreat.
