The Suitcase is Finally Lyrical

Distance murders velocity. How

Is this the same as our more authentic being

Of refinement and spheres? The official

Manipulation behooves me to wait

For your pathos with a mentally pressed

Upheaval. The scrupulously grappled

Navigation of flowing with lightning

Varnishes the mahogany of our shirts

And opposes nature. Charm a harmonica

And cab up the snow. A discarded

Wind articulates the wear of autumn

And its rapier chivalry. Toss a hammer

And the hail tastes of amplitude. Canoe

The paradox. Speculation is sticky

With maple bugs shifted toward Boston

And the light is swollen with sideboards

The aggression feels wavy and the propellers

Are so much pigment and yet there

Is a pleasure to be with oneself

And composure and thirst. Chronological glands

Chronological drawers. A crimson infinity

Asleep in the furniture. It’s only natural

To abandon cardboard and smell

Like adaptation. I accredit substance

With attitude and hurry to be an incident

A fence and fencing lessons and tea

Anger is expressive and so is bristling

If I flow into sounds and taste the sublime

Images can be pretty or excused. Infantry

Road has no gravel and the opposition

I hold to be the nebular prominence

Of a problem many times cooked

By holding a glow until the touch

Of the world sparkles like a paragraph

The Blob stretches into medicine  

And the suitcase is finally lyrical