By taller tales, to arrive at a story, Love was unmeasurable;
a man will sin for passion, damaged inside, rivaling for what was spawned.
Aside lakes, feeding fowl, living fantasy.
Rumor sings of tragedy, compassionate pain, art &
science.
Most
feudal with self, abandoned to fawning, partaking of her spigot—desperate &
wanton.
A man
awakens in terrors, dark sweat, blackdamp music.
To need his fantasies, for life is rough, to hold an
image—of dire concerns. It wasn’t her.
Lines blur, life is part unreality, thwarted by rain,
sullen satisfaction.
Convinced
upon a dream, to pet a canine, to rebuke an island; transcendent eloquence, a
rapturous presence, a spirit’s orator—
To locate a compass, to have centeredness,
to heave connectivity.
Where
has she gone?
