thick, white lashes and chain-linked fences are trouble. A bright, weaving synthesis. braided emotions cackling behind an iron pattern. twisting, tiny, small, indentures, someone has been here. can you imagine it? you will hear yourself exhaling in perfect cacophony with the past-tense seconds. ticking past, passed, stuck in time, gyrating between two microcosmic subpopulations. the mind is a dodgy creature. wily machinations. you blink, disgorging liquid as if ecstacy were yours to entertain. it’s muddled, it’s dark. it’s poetry. but with deaf ears,
the linguistic process it is inarticulate. as a caveat, you will remain. arduous. tears pool, pulling you out from the tempest.
it sourly whispered.