Longer the journey. Picturing how minds work, certain metaphysics. Looking at harshness, colored by reality, so sure a one-to-one correlation, certain wrongness. Bled to have a palm, nailed insanity, sky fever, such precious arts, with many outthinking each other. Spiritual sawdust. What was said! With time lingering, death at war, forfeiting on successes. Those eyes, that left brain! Such intrusion. Such a squall. Those banshee lips. To kiss winds headed into linguistics, more dewdrops, as to find a true fact, we use each other in fantasies. Blue jays chirping, songbirds singing, trying to keep with a balance. So cursed. To try harder, to give hell’s sirens, pushed, shoved, held tighter. To explode, to die too early, a myth we advertise. Each art knit with precision, each soul asked to desist, no one truly resists neglect. A stoat at mission; a tale as it was sewn; dangers as we evolve. I would say—souls hate change, as to suggest something new. Such caustic channels, mongoose beauty, sudden if the darkness is keen. Wilderness visualization; to imagine manna snatched, to fret a spawning, to disavow such legacy—a problem for us, a gift for history, 2o-years out, a neat dissertation, the future will bleed forever.
