fighting for good
times in good regions making good beliefs.
days shadowed by
color, walking color, abandoned, unsatisfied by color. many digging into airs by
stealth to push away from color.
most torrid cries
palms filled with earth, inking into life, or asking jacinth eyes.
like dying was
illegal, many getting pieces of death, it becomes like getting fried.
years draw
thunder, drums make tension, we might ask to grow stronger—as feeling little by
heart, most by brains, a decent response at a distance.
Love was reaching
for status. it becomes necessary. palming a field of ambitions; each black sky
each deep cut as social creatures dying at some hut. luxury of damages, fury in
directness, many will wonder why it happened
—they won’t have a
sign, nor a reason, they will plead innocence—can’t see self, never thought
about it, it must be a certain decoration.
it would occur in
smelting her patience in pain her art when she feels adored. it would occur in
melting her honor as never sacrificed a human in anguish.
so unsteady as it
works. by dear goodness, its rewards are insufferable. colorful skies magenta
sands looking, nay, staring through some creature. sound fading passion loud
too much to end this day. blue seas. smoky clouds. floating pigeons. by sweet
poison, I would vow to a scream, hoping to find safety in one love—an obscure
word, an umbrella edifice, defined by all we are, attributes;
aching for
concrete vows, beautiful boredom, a cycle by its ritual.
I heard a closet
speak about its distrust.
it has listened
for centuries—to confessions, to walls, to discreet years begging to become
freedom. so great our thirst, if sensing life, to see something incredible in
one human. most are passionate, strong, put to motion; they laugh with melody,
they hold a clarinet, they record by saxophone;
certainty in its
moment, as far as sight prevails, like sweet-painful silence. a fount aside a
faucet aside a prayer booth.
