rain
upon us, white magic, beginning winds—knowing fantasy, assorted sobriety, it
requires patience.
holidays
with a friend, eggnog with cinnamon, banana bread with butter—to start our
dance, to officiate our trust, to examine our pyramid.
unless
in spirit, the feeling is dislodged, the wall is steel.
“you’ve
gone too far.”
too
much worry. too much discomfort. too much appropriate addiction.
over
there, way afar, one reads, one feels, one transmits pieces of ego.
remaining
nameless. confrontational at times. so much personality in its deliverance, it
feels good.
in
a van, laughing for passion, loving in essence, so preternatural, such par
excellence, needing substance; went deeper, lost pieces of ego, told, too
unnatural.
tried
harder, beefed-up vocabulary, met her, felt like an average machine—maybe creeping,
not fast enough, losing Beethoven.
became
a ghostly person, indifferent, self-defensive, a book in existentialism; our
faces are different, many did the hard work, books transformed them, they tap
into pieces of the ego.
swearing
to violins, laughter inverted, fretting how it works; looking at good, bad,
uneasiness; an anthem aborted, so delicate, feeling unsuited, strapped into a
rocket; such a mind, so methodical, such a kitchen, cooking gourmet.
