by
thought directed by soul to have life fire those dreams as propellers as scars.
a far away giggle or a slight insistence while flame to spark a distant
uncertainty. such a habit for a creature where resistance frets its masters:
our candies our instruments our substance, tastes, or battles; to adore
existence or to waver with reality such dear preparation: the man to his
screams, or drums beating in mourning, while we never saluted the late nun. it
was an appetite so famish begging, nay, drilling his senses. it was unspoken
where it dined while it satiated his palate—those cream delicacies or
nightmarish beefs while metaphors only box in meaning. I was with needs as to re-censor an old
essence where sensories become projectiles; those damaging tentacles or facial octopus
with such reaching loin-fire; a soul to its guillotines a cedarchest to those
articles or dressers watching some brilliant woman: her mind un-braving the
tables her wit relocating the thesaurus or such demanding encyclopedia fury; as
died proclivity or something impetuous while souls parted one last displeasure.
so frantic in displeasure, as convincing mind but she wasn’t listening.
this becomes desire as cursed to crave where bodies arouse by physiology: such
racing modalities such future disapproval where people prefer something naïve &
coquettish.
