a mystery easily recognized or the object of an accident in isolation

you cross minimalism with overload
and you get
a mystery easily recognized
or the object of an accident in isolation
a few flashes of first heard
fumbles and fascistic florals
desire’s only recently
emerged indifference

and then there’s that solo part
where India’s in the pit of New York
there’s a proto-part of that orchestra
reality-shy of full training
the strange lips unseen in film music yet blowing
as home becomes very full
and life is stoked in a hundred
appearances of details
sinister arrivals
an effort of the chest
to avoid compression

so you go to London windows
you get a pen in neutral tones
you range and grange and evolve strange
moving on to something smaller
and easier to care for

who’s the mouse now mother nature?

the relationship of the horizon
the street throughout its appetite

the witness of a wander
decided in the abstract ask of years

and a spring is called
what?
the one reproduced of the other
a stellar cloud mist gray heavy substitution
milling transfers with time around the longitudinal axis
an ilk of the sort of kind that’s
in the same boat twice
but years apart

why so very long to realize
ascending is everything
descending can be adjusted to

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