Persuasion is in question. Pain is an audit. Like
living in limbo. Sure jigsaw the beat of the rhythm; terrible the loop in
skies; absolute the love of asphalt. Earn insistence, so into the orders, above
a legacy in dice. A palm of debris, spelling someone nameless, like existence
isn’t part façade; to gallop through it, to gather berries, as one addicted in
the winepress; naked in words, hidden in words, so discovered through words;
some surreal salad, major suffrage, still searching the garden. (Are petals
listening?) Assigned a vignette—would relish in reading a vignette—to hear a
person’s vignette; somewhere inside, seated at a séance, coming to see
indifference. Ash and color, fair beauty and writhing, indistinct into a proven
point. Seashells along the seashore. Rotten Tomatoes for critics. The rulers
have been given ultimatums.
