Eating dogwood, lying to myself, laughing under
sorrows—empty on evil, fire into his soul, phantom paws—intrinsic connectivity.
Each impulse spells a dream, mad at language, fully infatuated; stepping left,
gripping rightness, fretting whiplash. Love was verified intangibly, a few know
by investigation—so primitive, archaic chaos, Love over a dozen centuries. Upon
a noble lie, fraught by conflict, too detached to be so emotional. Put it in
flesh, flicker upon a star, sickness to the marrow. We tend to hide, like chi-chatter,
a cuff to its spirit; bucolic fantasies, roaming skies, floating into
invisibility—to die as destined, an absolute promise, sewing rationality. The
absurd hero, upon a fable, unto an anti-hero—at an old whisper, visions into
planets, thrown into ghosts—took a problem too far, dusky winds, taboo courage.
To carry whales—to paint a walkway—to unhook a wraith; juggling identities,
like ink to fever, with souls at gaslighting—to imagine the spirit, giggling
with cigars, looking, unknown to itself. Over salmonberry—gazing into
strangers, making assessments, like a person sort of unlikely—the fierce flame,
at a memory, provoked unto release.
