either
gold or not gold or found on the fence; this is life.
minds
are filled it seems. much of minds is unused. being at 75 percent, would
terrify us.
I
keep thinking: “Keep it communal.” I keep adoring—that—found global.
there
are synonyms for certain forces; the system is the beast; the monster is a part
of consciousness—most forget opposites.
timpani to skies,
to wonder about facts, where one is adamant; is it forbidden? yes, it is; does
one adhere? yes, he does; far too easy to assert, one is angry because I obey bulbs.
it’s easier to say, one is upset, because I don’t believe in the viola. it goes
both ways.
I
remember understanding what it means to try too hard. I remember seeing
signals, being still, and admonished for not moving. certain situations are
like wet napkins—supporting a book.
too
erudite for us; too shy for some; too detailed for others; such positive
traits, they are no good, one is right to ask: “Is this not unfair?”
to
chisel self into a masterpiece, is it not for acceptance, allegiance,
satisfaction? —as then told, it isn’t for any of those elements.
