to talk with other-worlds, confined
by beings, a radical response.
mirrors are lakes, secluded within valleys,
a thousand souls.
if to imagine, a bias group, enlove
with colored women.
we might prune freesias, see a
vision in souls, becoming what’s inside.
much a Rolex Rose, a viper’s venom,
absorbed by one person.
hitchhikers. patches of gray. and magnolias.
sexy Doves. happening exhaustion.
trenchant memories. it’s never as it was. such a jaded man, a curious creature,
once innocence becomes skill and craft.
reaming epiphany, senseless vice, reality
is buried.
so contested, spewing pudding, such
contrast and comparing. shaking dice, needing to shine, talking that freedom.
uncertain about centerpieces, namely,
guts are effected/affected, intestines raging—
mere roots, winter’s miseries,
summer’s casualties.
autumn’s grays, auburn skies,
horizon green shot with red.
the deep dark secret—we each suffer
from disappearing—in degrees, in penalty for deeds, in excellence—the sun
shines with similarities.
