Friday, May 7, 2021

Vaccination Area—Exit Sign

 

we went further, off the 710N, it was pretty quick. so much debated, or we see, most, as in me, aren’t prepared to debate. or a song comes to whisper, asking for certain schools, we need to know your thoughts. such vaccinations, so many cars, the goodwill in humans. we crossed Normandie headed to Vermont, sewers smelled stinky; along some park in some crevice, each shall become their thoughts. I fathom heated debates or sullen surprises in oceans of indecision. to need to feel moved as inalienable such surety in the overwhelmed. what else is there—headed across this bridge, such a long metaphor. mobile thoughts walking ledges or leaping cliffs. we returned to Anaheim. we filled up on strawberries. we mused dark-opal clouds.

it hasn’t been as imagined in a city of thoughts by far a river of spirit-arteries; spiders debating, or webs made of flame, or tingling where anger sits. a plum for breakfast, an object of sugar for lunch, aside a cup of hazel nut coffee. so much construction, people made buildings, geraniums feel appalled. too many trucks, aligned in middle lanes, we hope it goes well—considering proximity. 

it hasn’t been as imagined. never knew such destiny. proud, but sad, with a bit of guilt. roads are long, maps are just paper, there are usually three to four options. it hasn’t been as assigned, seated in solace, mourning (so perfect—so miserable). some are exclamation marks, some are brackets, others are asterisks—to become a reference a past-tense or an irrefutable algorithm. 

we used to ride trains, holding, leaping, while running. so many concrete poles, sheer enlightenment, to witness nonmovement. but it hasn’t been easy. most might agree. life has a certain mandate to it. 

rows of cars. achiness about areas. the young do not understand. debates grow in tension we count orange cones some have tipped over. another metaphor where life is serene, we see giants kneeling in devotion. those painted dolphins those rules the way Americans behave. We need to seem certain, or complete, but more, we need others to endorse our images. such skies or palm trees—it seems beautiful.  

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...