so terribly young, forced into flying,
filmed and refilmed. the begging coffin, deadly chains, the core bent and
seeking advice. terror in retinas, a tragic expansion, love dies in each
sentence.
into his rearview, Confucius in
mind, an episode, the treacherous saga. bled
for wisdom, consumed by knowledge, sweet ghetto lessons.
inner seers, perfect cotton, an
eerie drawer, a man refuted in soul.
a nightsong severed, an upsurge, to
wail into waves, bleeding seas.
casual men and women, pent-up morals,
intimate, photic and boundlessness. cultures warring, souls in danger, the
voice speaking of its cares.
to tremble against diligence, expecting
understanding, foibles come out in parts.
the shoji has shadows. tales are
made of clarity, and confusions. a rated treasure, securing femininity, and
unlaced lattice—lockets in terrors.
is the soul perfection, or ruined by
laughing out its pain? a return to turmoil.
provocative décor, floating
heartstrings, the masters, the organs. the faithful fatalism, the frigid
intimacy, the unfastened recognition.
a man cut at silence, and sat in
destruction, plugged-in for forgetting.
the linchpin is precious, irrigated
softly, the world is rare incandescence.
the phantom is attractive.
