over
yogic teas, traveling souls, so forgotten, so remembered, seeping into ransoms;
cherries over yonder, a storehouse inside, nothing quite makes sense—looking for
clarity—to depend on essence, like concrete laws, hoping time bends for me.
mind
on Neptune, palms in ash, a filthy cigarette making it easier. melting armory,
sorting through confetti, watching how we’re driven underground. a need for
clarity, a graveyard for bones, aside a lute, dedicated to an ocean.
cloudy
hallways, a requiem for souls, an ache for clarity.
so
clear it gets vague. such healing, just to die. something was kept back, fiddling
blades of grass, asking for clarity—in a vague universe, the cosmic perception,
wildness to apologize. as flat creatures, in a mostly flat world, there’s a
secret to becoming bubbly.
thunder
inside, nerves shot, tugging at clarity; getting closer, pushed further, never
saw it from certain angles.
bless
the soul!
she
must smile, a modest one, filled with lavender—a whit numb, wanton, chasing disregard.
looking
at flowers, saffron buddings, a lotus near a scar; thinking on cessation,
debating its claim, tugging at clarity.
