All the years have gone by quickly. Too quick to understand present moments, until they have become the past. The time spent in trying to figure out something or said so very long ago is a horrendous moment. Listening to myself repeat the damn-awful actions. A do-better never understands what things are about.
Intentional policies; breakable backs. Common criminals whip their ribs to force them to go faster on their bellies. Down, pull down at the crop-soil, hooves bury, grow trees. Learning not to smile. It takes time. Sweatness comes out of the pores and evaporates. A good rain brings it all back again. A haunting menace isn't that person, no clear menace to shine or sign through; it is there, but cloudy. A thing. Like a piece of clothing, to wear. Without it, there is nakedness, yet you know that is the way it should be.
Shallow placidness is a demon. And talking about faces unknown. Pictures in a delaware manual, those in fame, or just in money, silly poses caught off guard, not stopped in time. In those approachable journals, flowers overwatered, are ready to wilt. Cosmic meteors fall down to earth from a galaxy remote. Plexiglass creatures. Bellowing the fireplace to share the experience of seeing smoke come out of the chimney. Taking fears and shaping
RIVER BED 57
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