there’s a threshold—our
dos and don’ts, laughs and wilderness, some master them. when it should hurt,
if it seems it doesn’t, this causes a controversy.
to dine with sharks, to succumb to
impulses, we laugh as time heals wounds. the riddles are difficult—the sound is
unsung—I can’t resist much longer. to omit the science, to relent against
aging, and aging, nonetheless; crunch time. the diligent woman, the praised
soul, like adoring despite uncertainties. the ocean hit the curvatures, it’s
been that way, we don’t doubt oceans. many upheavals, moist temples, stomach
feeling some way. the song is sounding, the trumpets are explosive, reality is
playing essence. one the album, listens closely, never heard the album. another
knits and crochets for years.
irony has a temperature,
inside the tempest, most are forced to comfort self: knotted, meditating some
ideal, becoming resentful of the promises.
the beige sandcastle,
the wooden box, even antiquity.
turquoise flower,
purer ambiguity, the frenzy of the silence.
by the insisting, one
must persist, then it loses its cache. the experts might be different, I just
realized, it’s different coming out of coercion.
many disagreements,
one puts us in the seat they sat in: at scientific emotion, metaphysical
feelings, arms keep us at a distance.
at points, we never
ask for passion, just expertise, I’ll leave that alone.
the delicate monster,
delicate vices, alarmingly, we sail auras.
to pitch a feeling, dwelling in
sentiments, it’s been so long—I wonder if it meant to happen. what was going
on? how long doing filthy? how many condemned for experimental reasons?
the sky is an octopus. tombs
vibrate. soon, the universe answers. seahorses and tiny souls. caimans and
nephews. the wolf has a region. it shocked me to realize naivety. to never meet
a person, nothing of their story, and to agree, and side so easily.
the page was vocal. it
was never silent. the illness becomes the precipice. many concerns. many
jarring realities. truth pedals, they fall to asphalt, they die softly. the
fantasy didn’t last long. I respect the essence. I give distance to my
thoughts. it must have ached. such a message. to need it that way—as to feel
alive again. the resented creatures. the celebration. to insist on another not
suffering enough. an inversion on goodness. a swarming reality. to be filled
with sheer disdain. to dislike, nay, despise a person’s breath. to have
certified, deep in self, to abhor anyone that disbelieves the soul—to have
issue with total insight, the spirit rushing into life, the beauty of one
feeling the grip slipping. the obedience to it, well-thought out, to pursue it,
and accept the spirit-spasms.
