on level near a
fig tree next to a box of diaries—sits a child. he peruses his ancestors. he
has color semi-muted. it sounds strange.
daffodils weep.
dictums encompass terror. deep sorrow suffers.
souls boil in
lava. the child becomes a man. he dreams of a bigger picture.
florets feel
sunburn—a fount becomes a waterfall, deeper anguish cascades. many hurdles, but
mango eyes, we die undistinguished. knells are sounding, the town is filled
with hummingbirds, pain is decorated. if to love is to unbalance, two have no
right to love.
magenta petals. an
opus blurring. celebrated for proper suffering.
softer gashes, gnawing pressures,
gushing flesh. a horror in screams. a jasper bat—
near a jasmine hydrant.
suffocation. delicate certainty. many
have more faith.
a drink of poison,
a frenzy for the beloved, an ache found in flux. rarely would one sacrifice,
never would one die, we lose a fact, this element, found inside, might jump for
love. an unidentifiable entity, invisible, defined by words, lacking reach—made
lunar.
studded hopes over
fallen wings to look, at one introduction, to affirm passion eternal.
by a gut-phone, to
find in memory, a second, to have vowed to excellence. the seas of islands,
molehills of compassion, marble dusty into dusky tomorrows, like dusky windiness.
some snare for a Lonestar, safety in souls, unzipped into eternity.
sour or sweet,
stampeding emotions, to have cherished contrition.
