held and unheld right here in love, having been accused of telling tales, look how violently we fold and tint and comply with haze come into department and spring and gone and respiration armor. come make some backyard inside. the scene is on a regular basis let’s see. the state of affairs is fractured arbor. an previous gown made new the previous means, out of absent additional, starched and pressed in low gravy, come up on not sufficient once more’s invisible veer. plot will get folded, handed, and put away with all our fibrant issues of hush and ardor.
…
we’re at all times about to listen to one thing. what we hear is one thing we’re all about to listen to recede in plain sight and track within the sense of issues, and in the best way. surprise what all that surprise’s about? it’s about to withdraw, one thing ’bout to be withheld. if there’s a secret in what we see, it’s gone. can we go too? let’s go all up in there for the reminiscence, for all work’s intricacy on boo-boo’s birthday, tintless on the underside. typically you be on the lookout for the colour over there and right here it’s, unbound.
in the end, the rhythm is so supersessive that preparation forgoes itself in mild. what’s left is what wouldn’t have occurred. and ain’t no baseline for the membership’s proceedings. there may be, nonetheless, her shell, with its ominous safety, a rumble fully taken away from jealous hums and folded into this complete offset of cues, for the cenobitic pleasures of cove, cells wondrously bearing each rendezvous and interview. see if we will’t get you into ceta. see if baccarat can’t allow us to be. see your
decrease left arm within the decrease left nook, fold? typically put together is simply see meadow on the wall. we love the lichen of our fingerprints once we really feel them like strangers, the bloom and the blemish all epistrophic within the basic disaster, which we meet in double units of folded arms. am I my father in my smile? the stormy circle blessing that left nook strikes from body to border to maintain from transferring. we work what’s held right here cosmically. the buttons, and the stitching of the binding.
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this lavender blocking of the saturday dance should be a tone effect of our pan-affective flip. shit kicks in at a degree of depth that far outweighs our precise contacts. I have to see you this manner, by way of one other shade, by way of a board of tone respiration overtone within the blocking of the village.if I see that setting, then I can see the emanation of present and fade and now we have to work too onerous for the beam we give again. one thing’s flawed however we will fix it. let’s see if we will fix it proper now.
see how all of the irreparable landscapes really feel like they persist in selection? fairly quickly the children will come and take these books and information and lay ’em out in flowers on the sidewalk. even acute fingering of labor and their scarved and scarred and feathered hair will disappear within the echo of what we give away, which I need to give away in echo, within the echo of an abbey, within the all and all in your hand and eye on the finish of blue monk repeatedly and our inexperienced thought is you.
This poem is tailored from an extended model and was impressed by the pictures of Carrie Mae Weems. It seems within the September 2023 print version.
