I don’t know where
to begin.
she spoke to me as
deigning to me, it struck a nerve.
quite a fetching
lady, nice denims, nicer blouse.
many will strike
intuition. many will die a smidgen. many more will fight to live. it seems
difficult, as to fathom, while most are skilled at survival.
beautiful kids.
outstanding fathers. remarkable mothers. as one just had a bundle, another, some
time back, I imagine celebration, white wine, determination to excel.
the moon is
rising, it’s 2000+, a soul is reluctant to see himself.
time sleeping.
days weeping. trees flood our garden.
jamesia is a
symbol. begonias filter our enterprise. we stand as souls losing integrity.
offered happiness,
as we draw happiness, it looks dreary, sad.
most give the best
of self, petting some monster, staring with precious sight.
one needs to make
a city—permeated by astonishing persons—a model prided on momentum.
I see those
people, they sit closer, they have dreams.
as for the one
that made it in, deigning to a child, lurking in recesses. I’ll leave it alone.
