We go into a feeling, if to master emotion, many fears
by illusion.
If spirits find each other aside winerock(s) nursing
insecurity.
Some piece of being human: it’s never enough. Neither
are songbirds.
Poor word choice—running into meadows, praying upon a
dahlia.
Poured into an abstract, longing for concrete.
Too much speculation; too little sacrifice.
In finding it, emotion in skies, falling to inspirit minds—
most determined, devastated, & detoured.
We go into a feeling, destroyed by feelings, made
unclear, needing humanity.
With becoming in pieces, creating spots, purposed in an
alien land.
We go into a feeling, born in parts, refacing
inversions.
Hands put to service. Days untying truths. Philosophic
anguish.
A lady says it finds us—seated in solace, disturbed
& meditated.
Whenever its beautiful; whenever it hurts!
