Surface tension

We must communicate in ways to remain unheard - uninterpreted. The poet seeks to contain all pertaining to feeling; of feeling, of passi0on, of thought, all resting behind a cascade of words that will mean nothing to those who do not deserve understanding. Concealment; the taxing flask of imminent struggle tucked into the boot between the lines provided, a sense of alluring confusion rooted deep in the soil of the eyes. A poet seeks to wretch words hardly worth what glows deep in the soul. Desperate times wail for epic decisions; the measures created waste little if nothing is contrived from the muse, for the muse, by the muse.

Bread is manageable, but the heart pumps blood, finickly set, but yet the yeast sets in. Toiling slowly at first, unnoticed to the untrained cerebellum, eventually festering to the point of no return. Demons disperse but the stress sets in, the moisture of winter licking the cracks of pavement-EXPAND-fissures appear, splitting lands of various priests, govenors of qualms and vice. Spring is near.

Liquid of the flask fills the cracks, as spring requires a timely distress to regress, when a quake shakes the flakes of change, sullen memories overcome the hearts of the young. A special instance when bread is most suitable-feed them, and they will come! Rejoice in haphazardly constructed institutions of recovery; reality,it starts and sets again.

Forget the bitter taste of distane! Forget the enticing brace of lace! For heavens fucking sake, forget all you've been taught - it will mean everything to so few so soon. Little do these letters know, they know much more than most. They say perspective says it all, but retro speaks of style. Fantastic shadows cast down on wind sills, the streetlight pervades the space provided - the barricade. The barricade. The sane are nowhere to be found in this resting silence that follows nourishing wet.

I seek much more than what is read in between lines; nouns, the verbs, the adjectives adding to the momentum - The Sun. The rays ensure certain elements of enlightenment, required to embrace what words these pages cannot convey.

Misery has no struggle to overtake so much, but still, somehow, we seem to find a sense of happiness. Feeling alive is sometimes enough. Pushing through, just to get by, day by day- today? The smell of wet wool and polyester saturates the fabric into a blissful state of decay.

I require certain expectations; satisfaction far under-weighs distress, as i seek more sleep than this body has time for. So strange, surreal even, as if feeling the same amounts to any difference in rest...

We cry now, her and i. But her eyes cast a blessing on the spring. On how spring soil seeks to be marshland once again. She thrives; wails and wretches floods upon the land. Irrigation and city sewers will be no match for them. Soon enough. Soon so soon. Enough. Is it enough? Rest now to overcome then, the time will come. Soon enough.

Dispense - disperse many dimensions of change. Diverge from the machines; digress from their will and their words; cavalry of faith and of death.