those soft seconds aborted to happiness with essence blue miracle. it’s you in mauve or orange or florescent green—those battle lesions those war-cries while found a smidgen wounded; such lightfast reality so uncured but threshing, nonetheless; to climb like hikers to conquer mountains at such remarkable speeds; to write an essay at something difficult while whispering swear-words; while father gropes walls and the heart is deceitful while asking if it might be decoded; or wrestling with evil and knowing its origin while sensing it becomes or it fights back; such a terrible situation to have eyes we ignore while something goes too far; maybe a somber countenance or maybe an entitled countenance while every child is eligible for remarkable; those lakes in there those incredible swans in there or this universe in there; those scientific techniques those wires and copper and potatoes; if but to sentience or abandoned to deeper thoughts as this purer legacy; but I saw it in you this ability to shift coins and this instinct to think clearly; if but one objective this place in realities or this story in literature.
(I’ve longed to hear you) as one traveling zenith while filled by enthusiasm and zeal; our souls replaced our ethics tearing sky-cliffs and our old selves searching for attendance; so, a man as stranger that stranger as writer to hold a particular significance; our lotus dying by irritability and living by joy or somewhere travailing over an old ghetto; as a man thinks he shall become and as a daughter feels she will evolve; those gardens you love that visiting hummingbird or softer serenity music; to jot down thoughts or to write a sonnet while these memories become evident; our gothic realism so taken by history while a man can’t replace his mania; such cryptic advice or bold and daring love while it becomes nonsense for certain dispositions; hearing a slight whisper, a bit inclined at mechanics, to imagine one that functions and dances while a bit uncomfortable.
those syrupy pancakes or those pieces of bacon or a bagel with cheese: to remember a culture of glasses those turns down Century or those years riding miniatures; to arrive at something persistent this voice in passion while you were born through calamities; something was untraditional and something was vague where deeper insights might abbreviate our plain disjunction; as flying into concentration while analyzing those sentences to remind ourselves a Swan was born.
it became yearning to create or Joseph Trace deconstructing his life in a pool stirred by something unforgiving; to imagine destroying a man or attempting in kind without a trace of our behavior. but life is gentle at times if but a moment to see while reality offers a few gifts: this beauty in composition or this interior renaissance while one begins to unravel psychologies; this sickening prettiness or those longer lashes at something too crucial to dismiss; our untrained behaviors or gusts into horizons and explored by angelic-demons—this curse and blessing or this pure appraisal at angst and guts but too floored to breathe; for lights are heavy and images are static-cling while fantasy, albeit, delivering, it returns us to a harsher environment—where elders speak lowly and some there best behavior while we forget those first forty-years; so inclined to adore you but so unrelaxed concerning falsification while, too, your reach seems so undeveloped.