At risk reality. Inner pools. Abandoned to condition.
Camus cartoons. Is it more than
apparent? Pages inside. Indelible
ink. Racing sunshine. Do forgive a
drop of a name.
Left in
experience. Given a desert. Needing sincerity. Maybe sharks invert, ghost become corporeal. Medieval women—touched in shadow—sky silhouettes.
Sugarberry kisses.
Makes tomorrow appealing. We’ve vetoed sentiments. And have become insistent.
Unsure about
beauty. Casual acquaintances. It just irks.
To hear
a crumbling voice, to nurture prayer, to repudiate facile boxes—most unspoiled
spirit, atoning, as sight fixes, stoic at times, trying to accept nuances,
winter, and summer.
Wondering about crucibles. Realizing
depth. Feeling low grade.
A burst of
sentience. Most pertinent passerby.
Sickles
flood wilderness. Picking. Digging for gems. Souls unveil ability.
Tender charity—in soul,
spirit, and body.
