One Claim Is Immortal

I filmed the grass, looking uneasy, thinking of the desert. at a trail for years, the land nearby, the plight of Moses.

churning earlobes, mystic the dance, the yogi would listen—I, too, would listen.

days to islands. orphans like older issues, many occurrences, more pressure.

the plague of palmer-wood; the universe is growling, reality is shifting.

it’s strange to undergo it, stranger to intuit its touch, forbidden to discuss it.

 fasting might open reservoirs. it’s best to approach the chalkboard. to place the pieces into cohesion.

if it never adds up, it might become too much—it might be something to let go of.

water is one. souls are plural. spirits are similar.

over sour apricots, the sophisticated chase, music presuming silence.

the story will amplify the principle—toils warming, incense wafting, a person made to see.

symbols are like chimes, they keep at the mind, they demand attention; the same channel, deeper beliefs, to hear a young David play the harp.

resilience. a powerful notion, an unreasonable reality. a peer and overseer.

the countenance made haggard. the mind chapfallen. the face chagrin.

where is beauty? she is in forethoughts. her anxiety is warranted.

the inner doubter, that advisor, where has he come from?

life makes us doubt. pores pour out patience. but knitting knots us into knuckles.

steep inside is a craving, to have what understands—the cadence in rhythm, the universe held sacred, the sacraments appointed to duty.

one gave me a phobia. I gave in return, an anxiety. the order doesn’t register.

they call it nonsense, falderal, to make a claim about winds—some mystic enchantment.

many will protect the claim.