Analysis of Ratio: She Might See

I sensed an update, at casual fates, feeling like flying—inner leisure, scope to brains, feudal earthquakes—or seaquake dynamite, as friends dying, at pallbearer agonies: a lamb in need, a line of sheep, down south albatrosses; cursed in a scream, to reside in spaces, racism becomes important.

I feel mystic winds, at a yogic illness, at psychological ink: bones and sinews, an Alaskan freezer, the mid-ocean sulfur—as jutted a dream, radical porcupines, the essence imbued by raccoons (senseless): a cry, laughing for falling, parents to dominoes, mothers cooking noodles; if to arrive, to love the heat, at stark conventions.

To see those eyes, dismissing the ratio, the winter has allegories. With bells to conquer, the existential reality, sixty-five days of darkness: frozen motion, frozen rivers, the ice-beige tundra.

Men made chilly, accusing roses, eight months passed rehabilitation: the protective bear, the snowflake essence, the woman analyzing being—as crashes a whale into a sailing ship.  

The cadence wafting ecstasy.  

Chainsawing oceans. Jasper emotions. Rosy red senses

—at bliss with friction, at tears with realities, at graves burning candles. The inner lake pouring into existence, the fretted countenance.