I’ve become elderly, with a gift for science. Not all are crass, left to aloneness, maybe a few participants. In its lengths, it becomes natural. Truly, dearly messed over. I suppose, at least it should be, all parties are elated. Else, it makes no sense. I admired her mind, and took issue with her personality. So many blocks, sullen alleys, barricaded hells, walls off-beige. People are trying harder, needing resistance, with tales of credence, with miracles in one smile. At width to ease into freedom, at terrors to believe in rhetoric, feeling uncertain, looking quite rememberable. Never quenched. So many silent wands. I was attempting to dance, thrown into winds, casual at its ending, quite frantic when it began. So many caves, as mountains move, to conclude—a soul was a triumphant spirit. It never matters much: give and receive, receive and give. I can by emotion, to sort through cadence, as never an interrupted battle. I was early at it, seeking what I found, still a little pressured, a war in its confusion. A good chuckle makes eyes water. So threshed—as trekking through fields, pausing to nibble sugarcane. Life is like tetras. Each piece coming faster and faster. Soon, one is maneuvering into a ceiling—pushed, smooshed, made into fabric, its design, the world stressing one out. A situation comes, to know for resilience, a friend of some majesty—where souls perish, such rain meant existence.
