Last text message stamps that turn from time to day to date watching fiction fabricate where love profession became kiss-sealed fate. Determining if terminal velocity has been accelerated passed at a change in change in distance greater than gravity while existing unknowing with respect to and with no respect for
space. A little bit too tipsy to the point of topsy turning. A little bit too little: a tiny chunk: a minuscule nibble. A finger in to test the waters, the temperature of misplaced tea. The temperature of a tepid day with higher than bearable levels of humidity for individual hairs to stay put in organized chaos. Chaos so chaotic it can only be described by a law, the second one, it’s fundamental thermodynamic the heating the cooling trying to contain to construct to solidify the abstract into the concrete so concrete so rigid so indifferent unemotional.
His soft soliloquy reflects the moon, a pantomime shadow puppet playing with wind. A pretty piece of palindromey that ends where it begins. A pigmented filament of dewdrop fame holds hopelessness where poems breathe. She picked a phrase with well-chose words to force an end in life’s reprieve. Mishappiness malformed to taunt a tethered wingèd wonder. Breezeblocks burning bayside bridges as wayward ways go asunder. Carthage careens carcinogens, yet erudite elders linger. Picked a peck of picked peppers, yet ten on two he counts his fingers. The punishment of pundits jettisoning just because, is the same as fancy feminists pushing papers, burning bras. I suppose you can articulate just how indifference feels, by skinning yourselves two by two and shrugging off your squeals. Clandestine cloistered communists are cloying to and fro, but Marx’s timid tipping point will be turning years ago. His soft soliloquy reflects repeated for arrhythmia affectless. The moon projecting painted scenes with dimly darkened arabesqueses. A misty mossy happenstance of creatures where they fall. The killer queen who stole her crown forewarned but not forestalled. Blink and blow and blind your beams: the sight is for the singeing. Sopping sipping flopping flipping: an open door not worth unhinging. Blue-battered burning bridges the echo is obtained concretely. An abstract rhyme with blood schemed whisky that coats a love found indiscreetly. I clipped and clopped but still I found coalescing doe-eyed dreaming. Read forwards backwards side to side produced intrinsic hoped for unplanned theming.
Well-meaning metaphors turned tactless when read between split hairs.
Subjective language’s flimsy foundation: misobscured and hyperbeared.
A muse is blushing: intentions not unclouding down-pointed eyes.
A reader is bored: wordplay availing only undisguise.
Overcomplisimplifications: polar opposites’ portmanteau to a greater power
And here the writer thought she thought of all potential points of pseudofailure
Thoughts are words dissolved on tongues: chewed, swallowed, and digested in tiny little pieces. Internalized and singular: an understanding reached by one. Dialogue breaks barriers: building empathy brick by brick. Expanding points of views (when willingness allows). But language is limited: an attempt to find common currency. Always losing value due to flawed rates of exchange. Repetition is key: with synonyms shining differently-angled light. To get across unambiguous subtlety of some fundamental meaning. Forgetting is a tragedy. A lesson unlearned. A heart rebreaking. A thought dissolved on the tip of a tongue, that never got the chance to be unleashed.
The cadence of your voice when you’re pausing planning trying not to say what you’re not sure if you mean. The furrow of your brow as you try to turn feelings something primal something pure into language unadulterated unobscured. The words the sounds the ebbs and flows the release of tension the rise of tension while standing still standing just pausing for response. Waiting for interpretation my misinterpretation my wants my needs obscuring what you set out to define. My failures your failures the failure of words to describe to convey what’s floating freeform in two minds trying their best their very best to be one in understanding: to align.