Thursday, May 23, 2024

Countenance

 

 

Ask about her. Speak the language. Go deeper into nightfall. Balletic cries. Aesthetics, right? Nothing means what it did. Nothing outlives criticism. And we live to appease each other. I was near the gates, upchucking guts, smelling vomit. I don’t have to tell us. We’ve knitted afore the brains of miseries. Everyone is screaming, our shared quintessence. On a sunny day, palming feelings, mind-terrors into persistence. Russet petals; midday resolutions. I sit and gaze at an emotion—everyone is listening. And wanton for happiness, captured by countenance.  

Time was Brief

    With deeper allure—to ward off ghosts—melancholia is an empire. Such dialogue confuses—: one wrestling despair. It was remote living, in...