woodsmoke infatuation, thoughts eloping
too soon, a need to feel engulfed, whelmed, saturated.
softer drifting, liquid vibration, too
winsome for the faint of scars.
made of a sky furnace, walking deserts,
kicking dogwood; upon a burning log, submersed in fog, too much smoke to gain
focus.
a voice lilting to stars, changing
embrace, silenced by a bodhi heart. sweet, saturnine karma, aching
its blessing.
imbued with friendliness, seething the
jealous arc, moving with motion.
silence makes for a deeper notion,
presuming in some direction. it was fair to observe, fairer to lose thoughts,
better to loosen early.
some forged lie, like undoing an idol, it
will linger—one will make conscious efforts; many oaths, many more shadows,
looking for a lambent feeling.
such filthy chastity, searching for
pinions, if to relax mind-works. such dirty beginnings, like spoiled rags, the
fields are lain with salt.
something in its uneasiness, adoring in
silence, wanting so much for something inordinate—some sky deigning low,
feelings unkempt, with such lack of pure reception.
