Friday, April 3, 2015

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


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