The walls have gravity. They rise higher. They permit silence.
We grapple with walls, groping concrete, immortal falls.
Like adoring was easy chaos. Like dying meant death.
Many walls, skies full of fences, gates flitting into focus.
It was decent, they say. It was familiar walls, they say.
I fear losing perspective, losing walls, flickering
out.
The whole meal was uncouth; fragments of walls, symphonic gatekeepers.
So much a dream aside me. So indifferent its dance.
I sense by tears, to see walls bypassed, a dry feeling, a whet resistance.
In thinking what never formed: walls flickering.
To block out light, to pitch marbles,
where one spray paints his walls.
Drinking damp water. Rhapsodizing over blackdamp.
Nerves entwined in wires; Love pausing, poised,
palms filled with hopes & memories;
violin rust—mental galaxies—gadgets for composure.
Walls made of jazz; walls pictured in perfection; walls shredded by tenderness—a soul learns to divest himself—of memories, if & when.
Charismatic walls, Jeremiah’s Mirror, a mazeway,
a curse.
Walls unloved, fantasy walls, vulgar walls … unedited walls.
