Amid a beige mass of ideas
She wavers in and out of foggy glasses
Placably ignorant
yet atoms rage between us
one-period love
I am a source for all
yet she avoids my creamy pages
almost feistily
the hill rises more
made of denim blue fields
seething blood underneath
a seperate homeostasis
Her eyes view my unifrom ones
Silence broken by the projector
our great land sacreliged in LCD glory,
merely memorized in rote
flirtation fluctuates around me
yet infatuation is clamped inside my mouth
What a whore of thoughts!
More primal than the other false daisies
darker, seas rougher on her lost flank
She is deniably desolate
I strike a brief, granite bust of myself
Sucked into the dark-matter pupils
Flouescent garishness shines ersatz upon her
Pined upon mindlessly unlike me
A little red stitch in this white embroidery
Yet a master seamstress weaves it!