Thursday, May 14, 2020

Innate Self or Environment


the river dries softly those tadpoles are smoking the rocks are restudied. some person is frantic a paleontologist is taking pictures an agriculturalist is cautious. the river is essential, in this vast landscape, while farmers are terrified. (this becomes our life, needing certain pillars, insomuch as engraved by our environment.) so existential while so cynic where it’s nearly impossible. a man met himself. he quickly complained. the woman pulled out a mirror. such dynamite. the man cringed. he bawled for days. such oceans in there. such ghosts having black-tie night. pure passion into a gutter while it felt like home. a woman met compassion. he flowered her with understanding. she showed a friend, and they stole his china. (our elements, our deferability, our comfort-zones)—while a need for tenderness a kiss made special insomuch as ill-qualified to respond appropriately. (such error-thoughts. where different people have different realities.) a man met a woman, a blue- collar man, she needed something richer. or a woman, so far gone it hurts, to meet some charming soul. (we take on projects, we bring them home, while pain is a coyote.) (I’ll tell a secret here, most desire deeper love, while incapable of meeting their mirror.)
by thoughts to engage where so close I thought to hurt us. as unclean religious so destined to outwit while something ruins every ambition. so centered on error, so defined by error, while speaking is seen as error. it will be flowers or desolation either submit or find war. but most were taught, it was done in childhood, where compromise is respected; such negotiable rites where it feels normal while they fit-in with each other. the nomad is crazed.
he looks different. he doesn’t fit the contract. (a woman was aphotic but eager to seize her avenger.) the courage of the lamb the cry of battle while an artist is screaming her soul-cry. (again.) so many different views such differing perspectives such varicolored experiences. if there is pain, there is joy, where many people have milder concerns.

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...