Be ever gentle—language
made excellent, if perchance to indenture a feeling … waving, more ebbing,
juggling possibility.
A knotted soul, if
trying meant accomplishment, further into arts … certain apologetic, much rain
falling on life, to have banished love—to have cherished love.
Aside a mistyrose,
palming an ant, hushing silence; steering mystery, looking at an infant, in
mind so early at pangs—pure interference, sprouts of emotion, so be gentle with
images.
Insoluble passion.
Kiwi eyes.
Woodfire hearts.
Remaining with
masks, unfastened at corners, sulking aside poison grapes; wildrose berries,
tulip gifts, azalea surprises … over salmonberries, over deeper feelings, life
is a chase to experience love … so great the refute of love.
Evolution becomes
intense compassion … becoming seems excellent, if to ignore the miseries –
clashing with mirrors, aching to locate a medium, distracted by memories …
seated in office, a pillar of wisdom, valued, the non-approval.
To iron a petal,
to wrap flowers, many roses in the icebox;
romantic ripples …
science of misappropriation
…
religious
mistakes.
An ancient
grandson, to have ritual over knapweed, assigned an interior crossing – casual causation,
dots connecting, to imagine how souls find justice – to imagine flights,
sipping, like puppeteers.
Iridescent irrigation—siphoned
desires, nasty in those regions; to have died prematurely, to know life by age
seven, to look to the primary caregiver;
asking for
gentility, negotiating between tribulations, failing his office.
A surly soul
cupping silt.
A mystic
curiosity, morose caring, metric cures – if to last a short time.
Precious lies,
penalty adversity, pensive angels with error.
Loving her was easy;
to see existential anguish, more would argue for depression. Each road—leading to
understanding, and each epiphany, clouding his dreams – those in fury, the
flame so familiar, an abstract anxiety.
And adoring was
harder, an adverse palate, a teasing tongue, made determined to deceit – a cornfield
of spirits, willow trees hanging, leaves speaking loss and life.
Be ever gentle.
Become what flies. Many flit feeling wingless.
A soul dismantled,
longing for one sensation, as it comes into love, as it dissipates into
something mundane.
Colliding with
souls, a naïve essence, eating the work of his deeds; at a deadlock, rather, a
system-lock … if to request, by some mercy, the excellence in gentility.
