I see into an
anxiety which has clotheslines; garments are internal, a cemetery is nigh, a
group of souls are debating. we miss certain facts. one brought it to
attention. it seems caricature to renege on vocality. a little silence. too
silent. incarnated next to an agouti.
those things we
share, those roses we never sent, those deep scars we keep tacit. souls running
through cornfields, laughing while dying so close to an acute outburst.
a daughter spoke
to me. in an enigmatic sense. the concern is emotion. a soul goes so long
ignoring himself it becomes natural. he misses life, he runs into mountains, he
becomes a recluse.
I was in haste
when a bomb dropped, I tried to walk around it.
I should have
correlated kinship.
in a situation
when times churn, whetstones are agile, fury is a machine.
I want to exclude
someone, not as a human, but from something I underwent. I have no evidence.
just correlations. where I see power.
one eats whale,
converses with elephants, a leopard to a grand extent. no need for fantasies,
despite feeling knotted, so much a curse permitting a vortex. I will walkaway—a
soul speaking internally, a tongue stuck to its palate. so few we wish
crossfire, so many we must adjust to, pouring fire into an endless cup. some
monologue, a full room, or empty for a mishap has occurred. the fruit of my
life, why would she agree, unless burdened too by our mastership. a young
apprentice. an aging mentality. I miss too much to claim perfection. nothing is
comfortable at full length with anything we consider by marginal glance. not
much more to sing, maybe much more to experience, maybe passion becomes a
prison.
a little more…
I was smitten with
fair rose. I was gallica with distance. I realize many have a deep
understanding. it must be in us. this fire I speak of. those flames flickering
deciding what is appropriate. like jitters. over something in skies. over a
battle to include existence. many powerful souls, streaming in force, angered
by chance. a man watches, he defends himself, then he includes himself. like a
hermit in a cave chanting for years, he must return to his community. this is full
disclosure.
I will admit it, a
promising voice, literature became by niche.
