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You bend, you bend crudity
Low string, backbone
The water rise and the
Gore of it all, this rippling
Score, frothing wind
My nothing squall.
Can you really anything.
Curtains made of flowers
In the netting dream:
Who chose me?
Woke to heads piled in smokedrift
Gather expression
Then disappear.
Reach through a river
With my sewing hand
My any hand, but
I can’t take it back.
No, I can.
I let me.
Brilliance is a stream that baffles
Past every mistake.
To move at all, get disappointment
To the left of you.
I thought I was fucked forever
Until your twenty-bird word.
What we mean flies between
The branches of ever saying it.
Twitter: @ah_daradara
