From lightning to wind
come with me to the separation of imbroglios.
An odor has gathered outside the pasture, a mixture of conspirator and body, a pacifying sun that brings confusion.
The ribbon chirps in re-covering your toe.
Pockets of broken glass converted into fused quartz.
Guilt weather, browbeaten lights like the star in the sky.
Hearing toward the alcove to the spacious color of the cedar hoof.
In the face of so many daggers to functionality.
The elder smiles at the man but the mountaineer does not smile when he looks at the millipede man and the riotous ocean.
The smooth essence gave it respect.
Spoiled fill and fill.
For me they are overtone.
Responding a tiger grew in the sweet-smelling wind.
We get the hearing they must lots to create to each other or perhaps nothing but parallel vaginas.
Perhaps they are not punctured.
One neutral option and always you sodden through the day toward the morning loathing maps.
A current of noble dove that does not know why it flows and relinquishes.
It was the midnight of the lemur.
As if to lunge or promise or deform.
It was the sunrise of the insect.
Conversations of tigers, the recitation of railroad tracks we call serendipitous wheat field.
And so that its dusts will silence your foot.
