it’s
wool flannels or big black boots with jeans or shorts or sweat pants. something chafes us some snake in us or
proprieties where respect is prided over wrongdoing. while mandates are by restriction, or
puddles are leaped, in such a way our guts become wires. I would
sense something clumsy or maladroit where communication isn’t a mandate. but
those fireboards those flame-aches at some atypical feminism; insomuch as it’s
three threads: blackness, balance, plus, lesbianism. or possible bisexuality
where one merely guesses while everyone is awaiting your address. but diaphanous
meadows those meads we rummage where chipmunks are harvesting for winter; such
sweet deception or teachings while debating to raid another’s den; such
nostalgic winters, so many adult grasshoppers
while
we disagree over average versus urgent complaints.
buffalo pinatas or
enchilada pies while so festive so filled with consciousness. I opened something in me, I regathered
those unfrozen parts, in memory, I saw a face. but this is more to speak than to upsurge
while souls are traveling by gatekeepers; a cabinet of emotions, those dear
backdrops, by exercise or exorcism—if to watch a tree as it resists tumbling
where it exerts an equal amount of pressure.
most
are filming or readjusting cameras where days are mostly oxygen. (not much to
say, not much to reassert, or sort of pleased there while concerned elsewhere.)
such vanilla/chocolate or pineapple while many are re-stitching social seams.
our souls from Georgia our harps from Florida as we settle or determine here in
California.
I
imagine you might move. it would seem necessary. but we often live by comforts
for others. I expect little, during
this wrath of negligence, where I picture such a studious gem.
