the
mind is a website. the pain is the alphabet, to inhale existence. a younger
fool, a magnet for pressures, most do not agree with selection.
so
redeemed, so misprinted, such controversy. flying into it, a chuckle muffled, a
tendency to stray. more in self than others, rather perish than let us down.
the mesto
dance, the sorrowing garden, the mind making pictures; so crazed, afraid to
share, those with it—know it’s quite powerful, quite sporadic, like some
capricious order. can’t believe what the purpose is.
I made
a faux pas—I chastised invisibility—something struck thunder—an example of one
of the greatest to have done it.
so
decent in time, something agitates time, a few gray areas. the moral might
become the need for full-fledged participation.
the
shadow eating at us, the darkness bathing us, the light bulb flickers,
camouflaged, sinking into underworlds. the flower is terrible, contagious, the
bugs keep going home.
maybe
it’s me, but I’ve met these three—some metaphysical claim—can’t assert it too
much—plus, the anxiety is the message.
at
the moment, don’t flaunt it, don’t fret it, it stays to the wilderness, the
curse, the looking at my life.
the
songwriter, she floats, the violin, it distresses, looking a foreign women in
foreign countries.
assisted
by wholesomeness, rather tired of the structure, with all of us at battle this
way.
back
to life, back to purgatory, back to alpha, headed to omega, a little laughter,
another trip, the songs buried.
I saw
her ambition. I was smiling while it toppled. many were begrudging the congratulatory
missives.
time
is for change. goodness is for the agent. diligence is patience, and patience
is triumph.
just
pouring into the skies, or near into self, I threw it inward and it came back
with wings.
so
futile to deny it. it beats itself. at least, one finds a modicum of closure—never
completely!
the
wellness of the officiates, the desperation of the novitiates, the final
chapter, page one, to realize, the answers are plural—it never mattered, the
design is the chasing.
