WREATHED INTUIT
Tester desmoa long in fragmented rush. The soup of things to be said resolved as hot getting cold over time. Wondering why there is something vs. nothing. Nothing to why leb is runs deber shush. Cronathius light in part of the soarus. Hesh in spars for words there are twenty eyes fidgeting regaling the center of their donut mass watching themselves. Obsequious turnip-shaped time. Coning at the bottom where the roots are pulled from the ground and scatter thisaways light. Part of the problem ending us is there are skies. Part of the wall is a clear blue pane you see through to the shape of someone you’ve lost. Where pertained eath rush and ice. Del crunch casp a barrio.
Hey, hush. Hey. We are cometizing. This is a dream, now. So it’s borrowed. Inventing a later stage where heroes can have demons to fight against or let turn them. Cross a ‘spansion where time fries. Deluxe us gator. Wreathed intuit. The title came. What was left was being alone in a vast expanse no one all on your own way. What was left was nothing known, again, in its own way. What the silver-finned clore wet in the towel breathing fetally curled beside the fireplace trying to soak in the warm guessed was a dream was a dream. Did not wake up.
Had visions of ambient sets. Where a crocus bloomed and never stopped and a fire raged crackling wood debris. And dew formed and dropped off the limp edges of plant petals and leaves which stretched. Not to be heard in the Deus Own the clairvus lee spat the sum of non to never groan a topological feature as clear as crystal going dumb through and through. There are spectral batlike people in waving axis of brawn belating hazy days. Crossed ambered endrils slipping plaxis formative endred aye. For poor metaphorical sport the crisscrossed legs like ledges of buildings morphing one into the other reforming whole floors and layouts and walls’ acrid aped structures kept intact to some minute degree but never altogether. How can you place the spell within the pill bottle’s paw? Let me tell you.
I saw honesty in the late-central loss of sight I had and never again recentered but hazarded loss. I crewed out heavily a metaphor there was nothing still there for but said sometimes I was overdue. I went and pretended a whole lot this story was going on which was going on but I never knew. On autopilot the brain contended with fire to spew hatred over a vast waterfall of self-reflecting mirror droplets. An arc or jet of stream. Trenching olate fargone capumenthesis.
If err a vince nase lespond detral too on the hand’s back where the pain from the ruler spikes, oh now look over Del crimping hangar’s too necht geyser for fecund brecht lyre for songs in songs. Spellcasting snowbound problems kept under the hood of the cloak still the wind doesn’t touch—no. There are ways the truth finds a way every time though I was dreaming yes and I was walking through a central stall and I was yes in vital pairings host to magnanimous leafage the spiral maw. Whatever does don’t sway do not sway soon won’t move at all. It is meant to be—
Read, maybe, with a kind of contempt, if you were wondering, but maybe—
not, maybe it was meant to be read with love, maybe… but maybe not.
In a wholly fed avalanche of spuds the breakfast burritos got prepped. Wrapped in tinfoil. Stuck in the freezer, dubbed eatery.
In the spawned hick’s new sooner than later sun there are squabs with rotisserie getting stuck. In the sung-later songs, oh-well ad-ven-turie masked hisself a clam with a pearl inside his mouth he spits out at dinner. Oh ven-turie. None of this is pleasant, watch. I know. But the way is not paved at all, and sometimes you have to remember that….
Tin noyo Flaubert Rousseau Lamberdt Shrimp sunawagitstail ecliptic shrouded in clouds a-go. Scratch the back of your head with the wall, get the feelings out. Sap the end of the brush and paint with the smell of pine on the end of the nose’s tongue, lung and rall. Crimp—yes, again I said it—crimp the end of the page so your place is saved. On the edge. On the known. Rall. Tellusmore.
Final endeavored sleep whistle rod’s line dipped into the ocean of thought. Come-along sojourns into bleakness. With a friend that is a floating light. Come at us raw. On the end of night with the saddest somewhat song. Always a song. You play in your dreams gets the flooding of rain from the computer beside you you subconsciously listen to, sleep. Yes. Sleep.
If for WARDEN A HAD AND US AWE there were keeprects seckt. Anonymous-almost dragonfly-dyslexic warding off the darkness of the forest of words at night with a friend who is in a safelamp who is just a little bit of light, on. Resting in shambles the recurring dream, still. We all have. All the time. Not to murk the doll-faced fate of our lostness. Not to drift way again into clustered crawls through the mud of sage delight carnal pleasures into awe. Do not forget it is me behind the mirror I’m looking at when I look into the mirror and see—
The right half of my face slightly more haggard than the left, oh—aw damn. The bags under the eye somewhat purpler and bluer and more pronounced. My visage strained to see my visage in passing somewhat appalled. But somewhat aware this life if short and to care negatively is off and that it all is strange and beautiful in that way at least, being strange. How strange it all is the envious light going yaw-way yaw-way glittering frequent shalks neverduned plenteous pretense for a simple hawk, oh no don’t yaw-way yaw-way. Terrorize the nonsense with love said the umbered half of the face’s sense of the opposite brain a pineal interruption from the glands’ space and a long haul and a long haul and along came a light this way. Terrible truth the sinking into the Cahaba River the handset pulled away from the wall. Call me back home, now.
Call me back home in winter, where my honor’s secret. Call me back home in spring, where my love is thawed. Call me back home in summer, where my heart is beating. Call me back home in fall, where I’m through it all. Call. If forever the motion is deputized, honorifics aside forever, please, call.