were there not aggregate
palpable poinsettias ravishing
delicate intricacies of the
befuddled tongues of the
guests at the dinner
party.
where does the time go.
full. stop.
let's concede to the
shadows. let's sacrifice
pretense as though it were
our child
becoming his own
man.
do you hear how
the nightingales
sing in
Greek.
these are not questions.
think of them as melodies.
hum along.
ii.
And in regards to how the light
hits the settled dust,
just don't.
There was an aggressive ferocity
to the manner in which the tea was
prepar'd,
and I can
feel it
on my tongue.
Acidity. Tragedy.
Melancholy.
remember the whistles of
the bluebirds, and
how we laugh'd at
the sound.
iii.
the delegation of underwater
symphonies went
on playing
as the ship swell'd.
what a sunrise!
no hummingbirds were present.
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