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The Torch—The Murmur

the gunning soul, reviewing the affidavit, couldn’t shift the feeling. sky court, cloud documents, a few terrible and great pegs.

quite natural to adore you. sandy-orange grass, stumbling in spirit, never met a few this millennia. incremental daisies, minor pleasures, prophetic curses. to imagine a project, to see so much bubbling out, to feel frightened, to want control, to designate self – the

task is never to end.

so close. to remember the rain. to kiss at necks. to say, “No!”

many say it’s an illness, to appreciate inversion—of happiness, bliss, the plight of the first tablets.

an ancient bible, becoming a spirit talisman, reading more the stories; the beauty of the sorrow, the agony

of the greatness, the means to its end.

if only into—while dissatisfied, therefrom—made less the reality, separating souls.

by its voyage, Passion entered, it’s the orientation. I said it aloud, became a wild dog, thrown to debris. mystic contradiction. cultic concrete. if they knew what the few kept sacred. the wilder countries, the orgies, the fallings and failings, the warmth, as never

so interrogated by a whisper.

was reading an older document; it seemed apparent to me the phenomenon; nevertheless, (I whited out several entries).

it’s not a place to tell it, as a place to learn it, while most officials straddle a roaring monster.

Was It Expedient? what was the purpose? somethings hurt far passed the jurisdiction. at some point, it’s no longer the one person, the rage is suffocating, the boundaries trespassed.

if apologies are genuine, one will decipher, if good, one will move forward.

(as a strong agent, I understand a strong agent, it doesn’t matter if it’s manufactured.) such bliss to engage—to have

knowhow—to enter, filled with fire, resentful, followed by remorse;
eleven out in Vegas, abandoned out in Atlanta, like a cyclone when it first hit. eternal awareness, it will live out infinity, it started on that word.
sweet keenness, the rights to endure, assuming, in parts, “He

hasn’t endured/suffered enough.”

move us quickly. the irony of feeling disgusted. the miracle of the last to understand.

mental picnics, thought-ants, crawling higher, getting to the golden eggs. so incomplete, to relish in sinning, to hurt, wrath forward, falling, clutching our guts.

(I can’t as it was done, I must as I do it, rereading here or there)—the sacrifice of the (word cages). at the

turnpike, literature on trial, education indicted, doctors forced to operate;

the excursions, as the magazines read, prior to being put out to pasture.

searching for what she knows. never on good karma. both are a bit bourgeois!
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Submitted by on February 19, 2022

2:23 min read

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