maybe it doesn’t change as cycles
are familiar where screams are unvocal. maybe predicated on wilderness those
cacti those desert tumbleweeds. by force to come inside where mountains never
disappear—as instigation is internal, or we know each other, where I use you
against you. a man will be silent or he will sign his language like winds chime
as night falls. some nightingale some rooster as some daylight might appear in
the morning. dusky falls dusty interests or we will deal with each other
regardless. so much a clear, filthy rag or a decent hurting soul while it
becomes some type of normality. a channel to islands a place on a sofa or
another pointless cigar. many sober seconds followed by intoxication, and often
a man speaks too much. we deliberately behave we carry ourselves a certain way,
it surprises us to be out of character. like trained dolphins or skilled seals
or so many elephants in a small section. a man will play the buffoon or he will
perform at passing graces or he will be envied, honored and dismissed. a kettle
sits in a box alongside a tiny set of spoons, looking has become obsession. a
deck of cards watch the room, it becomes some sense of foretelling. a mind
might foreshadow, we might never get along, our cultural training prevents us
from mingling—aside for happenstance, despite culture, two have the same
habits. if I compliment a soul that soul might compliment me, where we are
saying the same essence. a lotus in a garden a lady is watching it she mimics
its stillness. I may never accept a soul that soul repays in kind, it becomes
drums thumping into a man’s character.
