Natural fact is, hand to hand, soul for spirit—panic seizes,
the world must protect itself. Dry air, insincere desert, quality over quantity
the muse watches, perusing, art seems to hurt. Gelada regions, baboon rapture,
some creature becomes us—bad breaks, closing the record shop, forfeiting the
betting, trying to fix a petal—roses walking, turned in circles, asking for
comfort; mandrill genetics, ape composure, sullen disposition, beautiful eyes;
nights filled with tarsiers, aye-ayes, dark purple passions; kilometer
ambitions, sins piling, dissipating, the struggle one will undergo. Many have-knots,
surrendering on high, concluding this isn’t righteous. To seize life, to
determine unkindness, to know privilege—one sins less, agrees more, takes
account for wrongs, drifts, and wonders concerning folly.
