The humor you flamed. Another seldom a smile.
Alone with us, wondering how it feels to be smart; a room claiming what you possess.
Some art is irreverent. I believe this isn’t your intention;
maybe too indifferent, until inverted. Maybe another is bent on jealousies, of course, we’ll never celebrate words, we’ll never grog-out.
I heard silence. I try not to wander in there, there’s rain to it.
In need of an armoire; lacing shoes, grooming beards, needed each week, life is on repeat.
I can’t exclaim love; I can say—not clear on powers, some sciences remain religious.
I was a neat kid. I wasn’t erudite. I was hungry for survival.
This is irrelevant.
You will see your desire; you will renege; you will change the future.
I will now trespass a little: you were fed too much too quickly. Like a philosopher trying to ingest Greece.
A dear swift death, trying at humanity, they’ve motives; still, filled with hope, gentle, wise, pulling back, advancing, a little here, an increment there. Sourness. Replaced by wisdom. Strong, but affected.
Take us to church, amp up the choir, teach sound, teach her ritual.
A child saw an angel. The closet was filled by phantoms.
He told his friends. They wanted to see this closet.
Each surmised. Each believed. This is faith.
