miles
to the finish line, adorned in mercy, rebaptized, spaced out, screaming at
silence. I thought about you, the snail in us, or the turtle making it first.
sad sunshine at stressors a tear more dejected than unthought souls. an axe an
anchor or anger, soft passion, allergic to voices. it surprises me, this meant
to die status, with so much brevity in-between.
I
saw self a bit surprised a face caped in darkness, an aura shedding grayness.
at
a cedarchest rummaging through antiques, mother seated in a high chair. her
dimples are endearing her giggle is laughter her arc has much to sift out. so
siphoned of joy so distant from happiness, so prized by anguish; our human
situation our pleasures in souls, at bricks spraying graffiti.
one
might imagine, simply from needs, another is slow to reach their agenda.
eggs
for breakfast a few links, proper hash browns. reminiscing, trying at science,
one might be anti-social. he has a reason. majority can’t see it. if confessed,
it becomes anomaly. some do better alone, or with a few, if we could examine
the suggestion.
on
to major times looking at faces so disappointed in our officials. many take an
oath, they seem noble, we must check on progress. patients slip through
crevices, unidentified, or something for research. I was un-nice I was
provoked, how in God are we innocent? (something I’ve learned, at every
disgrace, people decide how one should react.) how amazing! one kills
innocence. deciding on a reasonable reply. much like a parent killing a child—as
aging lately—to determine the child must tend to, and dance for them. I sound
unsound. many depend of keeping harmony. once one sees it’s in his best
interest.
can’t
explain it as it’s felt, a mind of feelers, fragments, visions and violence.
running amuck. knowing real secrets. dying and thus attacking society. morose
poverty interior slumming so heavy in another’s valley. a pocket filled with
softballs a body filled with cleansers or greens rinsed in vinegar; at
backboards listening closer, they leap to point out a negative. we need to
escape it, as if it’s winning, at a tub eating identity. searching to dislodge
sudden to hate, where two people can’t stand extensions. culturally, I ask gently,
which groups cleave to hatred, or is it all of us?
