The word the bird
reverberates
the Curly-Q's of visions, surfeiting
Surfacing
And I've been drilled
so passively
passionately
Inside the seems of lightened ink
The path of bricks that seem to sink
They soak my darker grip
While through my sighs I drip
Deeper into dwelling
My shield swelling
but I unravel
once I'm touched
both realistically
and ethereally
It's there, I swear the black stare
not so dark, just black with thought
The dark has fallen to a garden,
The lightened iris, the eye has hardened
and what was smote can still remain
the active option has, was, is
only a feeling
a gesture of an elbow
and an open mouth
so tender with awe
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