Knotting up—over cascading eyes, science figured out
behaviors, not deliberate ones, this is a different breed. Made for
self-possession, self-sufficient, still needing, still yearning; a box for
humankind, ashes for spirits, cadence for apparencies. Carving redwood,
analyzing where it all went, despite, redundance, it’s viewed with sameness of
deduction—moving marshweed, motion in mind, mingling with soul-states; as
peccable spirits, limited feelings, one of a given few—dressed for mundanity,
perceived on first glance, an entire life summed up in a few words; pure
genius, powerful intuition, with believing the questions have been answered.
Over ceramics, guessing about functionality, structuring given rules and
regulations those blues so similar across different hemispheres. Mossy pains.
Bosky souls. One fast letter to skies.
