Whatever I knew of majesty, dynamics.
Breathing like phantoms.
Whatever I thought about love.
The fields are filled with crops,
Remnant pains—crazed sickles.
I was cognizant of inactivity, as it morphed
Into jasmine zinnias.
The distance between arts & ideals, by
Turquoise clouds, fallen grays,
Present absence.
Upon a fringe, grappling with physics,
Sensing ‘transmitters.
(A batch of ingredients.)
Such enthusiasm, a record on repeat, Receding zeal, sullen weather,
An appetite for insistence.
To notice eyelids.
To hear facial expressions.
It measures against backdrops, backboards.
Whatever I knew about soulmates.
Life is so much wrought by creators.
Museum minded.
To fritter away, or become the arrow.
Whatever I used to attest to.
Torrent waves.
Magnetic gates.
Grave signals.
