the waves are good the surfing. the
desert is bleeding religiosity and monks. the sediments are starting to burn,
the sun is wailing. summer and autumn, winter and spring, nothing cancels the
blossoming.
the existence of the ageless
dialogues. to create characters, to make points, to change identities.
the rupture of the pieces, suitable
beginnings, established powers.
alas! the singing force, the
ravishing spirits, pure racing inside.
something is invincible. the
curtain was never pulled back. the veneer is authentic.
the dam was rebuilt, first
released, it comes to a new determination.
again with the old prophets. doom
and redemption. power, pride, and glory. the agenda is in the anxiety.
the soul, an owl’s dream—
reaching for solace, in a vision,
made into new creatures. peering at beads, rereading old memories, seated on
time.
much sacrifice, consciousness, the
need is in the understanding.
saying more is the feather upon the
melody.
sacrifice is forbidden, unless in
behavior. reality isn’t revealing. one must dig deeper.
