we
can’t define something, such a sickle, so much archive we sin by roses—at furious
bleeding such gut-rush, too torn for an alibi. some emblem so close it
reverberates. an unfastening a faulty linchpin a needle atop a haystack—a hatchet
inside a love beyond description while we delineate our chorus.
such unhealed healing. by roads too obscure to resonate. while most need chastity—not as stars but something pure if but to feel received. such hassle such revelation so much our unreasoning.
barefaced. too vocal. while neighbors are listening.
an unsung dilemma so coarse inside us while asking, “Who are we to judge?” so unfair such speaking in codes while many are decodified. our churchbell our trespass as seductive pirates—to imagine clarity, to sing as it’s described, a pirate is a maniac: logic is disputed understanding is void where one has mischief at his breath.
purple-red horizon or fuchsia disbelief while loving seems so misdirected—the funk of a skunk the pines of an infestation—while negotiating with our brains; such horrifying morals as commanding an army, where he was convicted for their hands. America like hell—on cultism! where demonizing is simplistic—the cage of one before essence!
such deathless signs to sense stopping while urge would ruin a first belief. too accepting when needing or so bitter with satisfaction. to hear anguish, as second antenna, such a lasting voice!
