"Intimational Flare"
Get away from my hand in the well-dressed mode:
I have swept all the brains off their feet in due time;
apart from pleasurable minds, I would strictly leave
for the attractive flambeau- lights break away as we
turn out open slowly off the solid chemistry into rich
gold quarters, showery in dust yet full because of ham-
mered bells with your lowered fudge (as spoiled in this
new metal pan’s delicate ruins or their sweetening mess),
as I could dare on her monster’s split terms for
our great scallions at Eric Ericsson’s. Our voluntary
meals are complimentary to those religious yarn-paintings
of tipsy farms, so watering our flamboyant eyes
sets aside formalities so timed for spacious Targets
during flourished rest. “Learn… oomph… that.” Permit us
fall into these Julians and quote-unquote Julian Creek as we
stray beyond an old militaristic identity through dear exchanges,
nourished us by buttons more than a baker’s dozen (13, isn’t
it Friday?) within close games since that is why Felix
belonged to guilty heat upon sweating hills. Right at talkative
seagulls when they cherry-pick garbage across elementary
public inner-workings, ¡hombre! On food for so much gift,
where is the fair spectrum over love? Is this boy for the boys
of boys pleased toward swift interruptions, throughout broken
horror to mime dad’s camping rum via unlimited webs, his
retired change of quality? When a Chinese
pageant on my 360 gets a loyal reflection of this
jasmine mirror near both thrift lines of discounts
above floors far from the Oriental Arcade- her flowery
uniform on display in front of notorious cameras,
exotic shapes that curve in Asian image to form plants
on industrious dress which are delicious for giant bees,
spotlights of the eastern cultural republic- I am philosophy
about demanding beauty that also powerfully defines
itself on my engraphic playstation; eventually my obsolete
machine got stolen to be mistaken by a western center on
Poketto Monsutā as mature content. (Sure, a
lady for a tailor shop gave me kissing disease
before ignorance around the shopping asphalt near
that sriracha deli; at some free hospital I
imagined Darth Vader warning me about Shakespearean
operation, thus us Julians can pick up eventual cervezas
for guys who shake up my glasses with poor fists.) Trolls
are cheering for Canadian baseball at one athletic
session for the Rockies while pizza is distinguished
around Elysian Park. What occurs when I add
snow and playground dinosaur toys to Nathaniel’s blue gift
above ancient gasoline signage? Maybe my lucky coin-op
cat is as green as a plumber’s invisible walls or
Apple Farm was where a young student’s brilliant
aura of facial complexion reminded an elementary
Nale of petting Honey to show mathematic romance.
Actions are according to other actions: Egyptian
longevity- (SmackDown on 13th program)- along
with “Shoo Fly, Don’t Bother Me” and even older
memories of spaghetti resources where faraway grandma
hung transparent balloons; it is just too much,
too much. So what is our allegory? It is an excessive
demand I only woke up for the age of middle 30, to conceal
(on principle) times located to built accomplishments
I tactfully sail on through vivid truth which explains
my lurid appetite.
*This is a poem about a treat day I’ve had.
Also, in my Sacramento dialect...
"Around the Folsom"
Maybe a boring word is something of a false whistle,
Such opportune second I look German hills via PC at this used castle,
Or else historical geraniums, near the tattered bank not, off exhibit
Flourish the Californian main town above cactus paintings from 49er’s habit?
*I’ve written this piece in tribute to an abandoned bank I saw near Folsom in Sacramento, California. Maybe it was a castle, maybe it wasn’t. The thing is, the wood of it was old and tired, almost to the point of collapse, when dirty flags displayed near a wide farm.
https://gameuniverso.deviantart.com/
No comments:
Post a Comment