We watch the overseers. We talk to feel church. In making a point, we imagine many illusions. I remember it. She was consumed by it. There’re unspoken ways. To keep to wilderness, speculating, living indistinctly. Those terrible confusions; delusional labels. Such loudness; like a being responding; like bells ringing for class. To travel desert shrubberies, to listen to existence. Nothing is private; one made privy to caves—studying spirituals. By an ache, it’s more than mind, it fails in its resistance. As if we knew, in its impression, offsetting, part with excellence; as invaded islands, made pliable.
