Sub-Cheer

Tourmaline and flares, all suggested and whatnot, ripple over water-dells and rivulets. Tan giggles pack meat, et cetera. They writhe, wring hands, necks, elbows, get that queasy feeling from brushing two tongues…What have our screens seen? All the searchers, wishing wells, elephant people, in the train stations of the cold soy world break breathing rhythm. First feeling worsts the second. There are wilds to roam, tarnished star-raptures tumbling along bowl-topped skies. Shave seconds off feelings. Full subtle submarines, questions and experts churn romantic pastimes in dark water-spaces. In sense and trials, we feel through eye doors. Take cake fried and placed on dawn gauntlets, sending torque to find ear engines. This is the site of words, of some thing to say and say agin and not just play but go somewhere, rub the potbellied idea set thing, merely saying the frustration and finding worlds that have sails flying at edges of pop pop nude figures wheeling ever high ever trickt, lonesome bird running down my fine, hard to discern coastlines of fear and shivering. I diamond the sweetness, long the own’d owl-call, gone the long old time, sending my thought to far corners for safe keeping. Sorrow and hallowed graves, wished for long, and days are their own whens.