the
ebb of its bract, soft, supple leakage, a face asking its witness.
into
the wizening soul, saturated by wilting, a grogged soul, loving its
invisibility—those features, cherry eyes, mangled spirit, to understand without
words—The Great Affliction, surrendered to chimes, as winds winnow sands.
pores
spray intense pain, so gorgeous in physicality, so much a creature of lusts,
ebbing our bract, veins in our leaf, sorrow in our greetings.
so
indecent inside, the ocean is in there, falling into an abyss, grappling at
metallic walls, slipping, sliding, trying for footing, awakening in cold,
clammy, desert humidity. the right to trek miles, to meet shamans, doubtful,
trying, language, hassling hearts—those fumes, no one around, those screams,
shrinking into carpet, cupping shags; the distance in the rage, so mean,
carrying a shelter of winds. ruing insistence, abandoned in a sense, so agitated
by spectators—fuel is low, the world is tugging, if to take this space, wouldn’t
wish on others.
the
spoor of the animal, such a great affliction, solace comes through
intentionality. so jealous of normality, so much in blindness, if to know what
one has in possession: esoteric pastures, mystic meadows, deep insights—so infused
when it chimes, so imbalanced-balanced, equanimity is indelicate, time might
speak immortality.
