lost
in dreams, moving faster, laughing at rain; so self-concluded, so irregular,
bathing in screams.
it
was early, to lose childhood, to become some creature; roaming haunted havens,
reaching inside, released to invisibility.
love
as it grows, science as it decides, more into math, rewriting the evening, a
ghost in dungeons.
more
in vacuums, accused of resistance, on one path, most unsteady, another path, most
lonely.
tales
told tragically. shrouds sewn secretly. so much in art, arranged to go deeper,
damn near undecided.
the
life of a phoenix, stitching wisdom wings, seated in utter loudness.
it
seemed simple, gathering roses, the elephant is a tamed monster: rattling
chains, breaking fetters, acting insanely;
houses
rumble, curtains mean nothing, no place on earth is private.
trying
to conclude existence, made pensive, alluding to myth—as it seems, if it
became—some loathly flight into silence.
heard
about innocence, tried to feel differently, it seems like illusion.
some
perception, underpinned in fresh mud, soothing as it might insist.
once
it was, it became apparent, once it was spoken, it was realized as hidden.
