Rise fall imagine. Rubs the wrong way. The same satisfactions need the same needs (read: needing more.) Lift this leg, turning left. Lift the other one. Lift them both and twirl in opposite directions and rest. Consider yourself what seemed in preparation and ended up in a kind of sorting and sifting motion. Consider the fuse. Raise your eyes to the level of the horizon and leave them blank. Ten looks better than seven anyway. She’s all out of monkey, the poor wretch. Pity her, please. Jealous? She eats important dinners and dances repeatedly behind closed doors for men who shower her with silence. She comes up empty. not purged. These touching communications mount some moving ascended again. Go for the long stretches. Practice makes performance moot. The sheer blank gone from the mind.
Raise right arm, left again, drop arm in keeping with your function. It’s building itself. Because the hundreds inherited himself. Because the foregone conclusion is flight. Drop to the floor, you bastard, you sniveling udderwipe. That’s what they call ambition.
Deep down, we’re fond of one another, enough to say the nice things on the nice enough days. Here, now, I’m still here now here ‘til forever goes black. I never understand anymore how it ended unhappily happy. The way with our other; presume the light. Fanning the distraction without halting, the feathers fly faster when you fly. Yes, it will be alright, ceased. The can and shoulders in winter. Nothing else before the end, anything. Under the bed this aroma strengthens and then stagnates. Drizzle on the arms when the storm’s a-brewin’. Covered and couldn’t have to do that, the same sentences that directions from afar. Did I try everything unquestionably fair? All the wrongs waiting?
These wings tire like personality. Complete with above all the restless imaginary matter and at least hope. It wonders the everlasting stop. How you sustain your habits and are happy for that stupid stability. Forgiveness parks, always spoiled with litter and the homeless. Anything up to the point where everything can be bought. Raise your right hand. Breathe alone and murmur. Fall away, frightened. In the dark and kissed and licked and grounded. Surprised by light, still tender. The nicest thing is having enough coffee before going. The square foot multiple. Image of discouragement, hollow yet comfortable, and as always full. Right, lightly, never stood. Nouns meant to mean nourishment and somehow not succeeding. With spirits low, the itself is confused.
Doomed for take-off, it stutters, breaks into song, sideways along the long, long forced forced field of corrupt corn economic malaise. I don’t like flying and consume pills and booze to break the fall. The part of together I delusion and cannot say. Rise fall imagine The hamlets slip. Up the wall sounds silly of silence. The opposite of ends and far from friends. In no danger and fortunate for it. Quickly put together, and how it rusts so later. Something paste by sometimes barely noticed. The sedentary body by face and ladder. Tempted by its temporary. It’s simple: there’s a motor. The new fortunes and limits of distress. I harbor no ill will towards the sky, by its rejection of me, personally, but hold issue with its sometimes wavering when I want something stable. The further ejected by harmony, a ghost. The bodies sweating, the greys, the nights. Initial level less long. The crash comes later. Raise the right vault and vomit. Straighten the trusses underneath, but oh don’t loosen the simple slacks. Flying doesn’t need words. The bundled, exposed to view. Raise the whatever you want, it won’t make the difference you intend it to make, but you will be better for it. It is so clear, over here, before you forget. Absurd at how all the times we could have made it work. The light lighter than these wings. That’s why we take pictures instead of flying, free, for instance. These pictures are weighted to the ground, the memory of us, the solid reminder of the things we did and didn’t do. It’s the same, so start then. It doesn’t matter much in the closed place. These are all so unsuitably framed. Faint sweet relief against the wall. They say they’re gone, sightings uttering the reasons for wanting wanting. The dead which say no difficulty there, dreaming. And they said, the rays of the sun, the material things. The take off trespasses the possible. We’re not there yet.
