serene ocean mountains, sediments inside
estuaries, nearing a space of hatchet fish. sweet jasmine tulips, saffron
roses, a patch of water lilies. the old seasons, the old countries, kelp and
sand. the biology of intimacies, the trenchant valleys, the casting of the
hearts—sane, deciduous reality, chemic winds, encouraged by deeper lessons. to
believe neurology—causes plants to grow; to believe imbalance in perfection—as hidden
in its location.
salt banks, potent warfare, sodium
in piles.
some may open wounds, the reality they
see, it demands vigilance.
no one person is always foolish.
the agriculture of brains—the sunlight
in nature—or the deceit fed to cosmos. more thoughts, more functionality, more
pretending. it opened rightly. it was designed for opening. it can’t help its
design.
something new has touched the
winds. it’s amazing in its miracle. many times we can’t share an experience.
casual confessions. spheres. more
skylights. tones and sensations.
a montage of heroes and heroines.
collages made of feelings. many of us have a war inside.
bioluminescence, night hawks—thinner
grays, what we might not desire to believe. or the layers we do have, they seem
nonchalant, while we speak of connectivity: the oranges we eat, the whales we
battle, the elephants we carry. one might be a loving soul, an outreaching
soul, a soul seeking its repayments.
by the life of the spirit. the
voiceless voices in society; the angels on ports, the danger we risk in taking
it seriously.
professionals.
to omit an upheaval, to stress over
anxiety, or having an experience too different to discuss. the sun pouring from
herself, the moon negotiating with luminescence, the earth created for fruits
and flies and humans and eating and living—so great the ambition.
the gravity of what never ends. the
source of what can’t be true, where it must exist. the mood of the damages.
