I
could vie magic or uncut ribbons as an effort to give volume. I read your soul
in words unfolding while sensing deliberateness. our currents our watts our
ocean as electricity: by forces raging by aches pulsating or unwelcomed with
pure vehemence. the long drive those pavement feelings while peeling inner
resistance. upon a hassock, kneeling visions, as undressed in spirit. sipping
holy water by torn perception where something human determines sacredity. if to
hate a man, please be innocent, otherwise, it smells like hypocrisy. upon lands
or trees carving cotton-graves. such history as to have owned slaves where time
was against grandparents: such union such undercurrent violence while some
things seem repetitive. our soul-napalm, our cirrus screams, while anxiety is
stirring. I gave tithes, to walk away, but it was never full ownership. I palmed
a snowflake, as but a miracle when life was the bee’s knees. so much overshadow
but such a delicate spark so tugged into different experiences; moreover, a
vacuum or a sponge while ill-prepared: those mountains by molehill-seasons if
but a gentler caricature: wrestled identity or trashy messages at buildings abandoned
to skunks; thus, an odor or a stench while fenced but opened: our unstable
insights our fiends that roam where oaths meant something feeling good.
