Who Is Saying What

Time is a floodtearing hard at living thingsI do not want…in the endless cycle of rebirthto sink into a surge with no focus

The track of every veinprops up the turning of the planetby accident and by chance, stumbling and collidingfeeling out the autumn harvest and the spring plowingI want explosion, not equilibriumfate is merely mediocrity tacked onthe extraordinary only a madness thrown in

The half-hidden, half-showing “ache”repeating in the rebirth after redemptiondo not speak of eternityit is all scraps left beneath the lies

A gorgeous composureimmersed in boiling waterthe pen has soundgraceful and pressed for timeextending another dawn

Manipulation…so history names it

Launchresistance!