Monday, March 16, 2020

Why Are the Lamps Hidden?


I lose parts of this susceptible soul while counting ants. I fathom behavior, while I can’t vet behavior, wherein, this understanding is disbelief.
Such penchants or wonder as wandering wraiths or gunning harpoons or at length this ageless conundrum.
Those sacrificed nuances while
floating through mazes           to look so terribly at forgiveness.

I feel patient but a bit impassive for years were crocheted by trials and memories—if but a solid message if but this typical clarity while many are destroying essence.

I hear fiats or clever disguises while it must be those people; this tolerance we cherish, or misuse, while saying self-promoting aphorisms;
to share blizzards or skies with so much negligence come April;

our hurt with little coercion while most perceptions are psychosomatic;                                               as you might like this, where conversation is unverified and everyone is ill-advised.
But negotiations are forked it becomes mannikins or mimes speaking in motives.

It is not my life-raft indeed it is not my parachute, albeit, I hope it works out, this is not my consumption.
Another wears his suit. Another purchased a new tie. And another pulled out his Sunday shoes.

I address love this mandolin paradise while
we often mis-gauge its reach. It is meant for more pleasures or less furies while it nurtures our best qualities.
Our necks or minds our spinal cords
—so filled so electric where beats seem emphatic; those pressures so gentle, this reasonable agenda, not as damaged and given death.

It’s miles to sandcastles it's weeks until complete and it’s months until false complacence.

Something has been confused                        irregularities are the norm       and axioms are superficial maxims.

One would load your cart and empty his baggage and leave you tugging at your brains.

How have we loved her this miracle in dress this touchy honest miracle?

We earn our hassles in days of unrest while leveling our perceptions. We give what’s appropriate            sometimes we give more        where we behave as setting precedents; if it is with flaw      we don’t do it                   while we act like receiving our behaviors.

I’d Save The Reader Years

    The beat becomes sickness. A long crucible—a drilling ecstasy. I was losing focus, feeling forbidden, if to self, if to mirrors. So curs...