Yet The Strained
Germinable tres white sunder
Won't have peeled creation from
Dromented fargone credibility
Blue fur mop for
How emotion in arrears
Seems one more tension grin
Spoken from standup
Wind-down favor
Alterably slowing to a well
Of change so peeled
Furnace late tunes tasted
Venturing a premium list
Lately contrived as soap to clean
While every prince seeks
One more luscious minute of her
Company in turn from very same books
Kept too long a time
Are we inhabitable free points
Yet the strained impetuous
Voracity just once in pain
To wizen frames all open
As good ladder primed
Intention
There was a hall, Immaculata, where girls lived.
The college had a name for quiet,
But the ones living in rows would swallow gold
and be connivy-prone without leaving their rooms.
I chronicled myself when I would walk there.
Every life had jazz playing in head.
The beds were never thick. I waltzed beneath,
Then cropped the photograph to fold into a number
Plenty pied in drama's fortified new poses.
The lore read: "Won't you share my table when my bed is full?"
The full scope of erasure pounced in place.
Many legions made a world,
And on our faces were expressions of apprentice
Late and same and on the rebound possibly
From one too many romance
Handled quietly with hurt staining the evermore.
The Lines Say Dive
The lines say dive,
and I'm prepared to reminisce all morning
instead of re/produce what wings would track.
The walk of afternoon retraces magnitude once lacking.
I talk to sun squares
and refine my sense of steeping
for purposes of coffee and the wanton labor pool
that miracles our way out of dominions.
Gravity's a puck of flavor tapped.
What say you, hose point?
Is the glyph about to be strung?
How many handles does it take
to hear a fleck of poise on radio?
I thought a shadow needed to be null and void
before honest-to-goodness resurrection.
Boy oh boy, what seeds we try to capture
when we work two-times the level of endurance
praised and postured and eventually erased.
The lag time leads us by the nose.
Ephemera need to have been walked
Prior to proofing.
Give way, says the yield sign, and I do.
I let the train conductor fool with the controls.
My own amenities match nothing.
Now it's time to rest my head.
The speckles in a given line say dread conclusions.
And I do, I usually walk instead
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