The weather is always the weather behind my hand, air and song (wordless) mulch, packet, leaf, highway, a tiny unknown bird spring spring spring wishes biting as a goodness of strains, as if I’d misplaced questions I can barely answer. The temperature 26.2 at peak. But it’s all relative. What goes in the bag is …
What dollops, what designs, what morass what dogsbodies, what dust, what morals what motive, what delights, what does the moon, the mooring, the motif do on a nimbus, on a norm, on a nightlight of sunny thrones what does the waning moon do on a node, on a night, a nuisance of sundries, of summons, …
Who understands hook horror, hours, honey who understands home Who understands home lips lifts, lists, lines It’s a long wheel, a long weight, a long weave, a long way back
Let the quiet stand, its tincture is part of the play. Let the quick stand, its tinge is part of the play. Let the questions stand, time is part of the play. Let the quizzing stand, the tingle is part of the play.
Volunteers for the fiction craving witnesses Voices over the fence crashing wisdoms Vortex within the fete cooling windows Volumes without fight cracking wine Voids leaving the filter quoting winks
Learn when the sweat is becoming a spell Land when the sun is becoming a spectre Layer when the surface is becoming spurious Laugh when the surprise is becoming a spin
the breeze the air moves you do not call it detail, destroyer destiny desire but admittance adapting attracting action