Intensity of a lamb, sheared like sheep, searched for
like one getting away. Major celebration, one astray has been located, and
carried back to his family.
A lamp was under a table, we pulled it out, it gives
light to the entire room.
I have knocked and no answer, I will give it to Hope.
The soul was flame, gathering science, and berries,
and made believable.
People become iffy, not over reality, rather,
mechanics, semantics, allegiance.
To feel this way, to turn from water to wine, to hold
the staff; and Love would shed a tear, not as vice, more to prove a point,
another would drop a tear—so much insync.
Many rabid flork(s), little clamps, prohibiting cool
winds; such fermenting, to flourish softly, dying to make it back to cleanliness.
I give it to him, so unruled, so much iniquity, and he
carries his reality, his sanity in the palms of destiny’s hands. I will meet
him at the tribunal.
A valley of marmosets, a town of geladas, and I wonder
where humans came from. Such blaspheme! “We came from God.” Yes, and Yes!
In terrors, we exclude as opposed to augmenting. A man
as he lives. A woman as she breathes. Far enough back, and each person is
related.
No clear aim. Maybe a couple of impossible fancies.
Maybe a ghost inside, sleeping, breathing harder at the moment.
The fear was I would lose it. The reality is it has
grown.
