Why ignite a puzzle? You let go by doing it at all.
In a mini way we drop the heart of the looker, super the
flow, fly the certain. By picturing the message falling
we ground a constant, asking our bodies to respond
louder to the rock. I know your feelings fade.
Desperation is an avalanche.
If I were to let my hands flow and just tell you,
I might corrode the ladder. Touching letters like my
muscles mind the parallel. In the privacy you took the surprising
turn on the fork and pulsed into me, craving. Your flip pulled slippage from
my pockets and spelled easily. Two squiggles next to each other turned
into ribbons by adding little slanted lines. Forever forgot to happen.
Why allow the span to puzzle? You find beauty in light’s formula; symmetry folding surprise.
Like satisfaction the math of the breath pirouettes when you catch my heart wandering.
The other luck teases your own control. How your desire shapes the waft, my first sense curdles.
Some fear gives me paths to turn away.
I found a loop, I’m knocking on the sky to say.
Abrupt tapping and observations, a divet where
water used to be suggests the feathered edgeless.
The branches reach out and repeat, I look through,
reach out and repeat it. I avoid the core, as if that’s where
the itch shames. On the city’s mountain, echo was
so close to the word it barely left it. I braid uncertain
gusts and look right at you. I asked how many times you had sung out to the expanse. Hummmmm mmmm mmm
You said, we get to witness the crescent rise. It’s so good to pee and look at it, my light
follows in a soak of coaxing. We want to learn how to feed source.
I dropped the glass of well water. The way I can taste my own mouth.
You said, what’s precious is no problem because we’re gonna
be again. Breathe in and lean back dreams later.
Do you feel received?
hi nora, It is I, Kaur, your greatest enemy and friend. We shall be each other’s creation and
destruction. Are you ready?
I’ll be ready can you give me 5 minutes
Yeah for sure. I have to stop and get gas anyways.
I leave myself shaking. A million watts of morning. I take your wind. You said you couldn’t.
Cold knot by a water drop spells the squirm that tapped in. Your lean strained against itself.
Will faith plant? Before we FaceTimed I glued myself together for 10 minutes. Into this firmly.
Asking endlessly.
bowl of yellow sound, imperfectly made
this morning’s chatter has no answer
rather it hopes you’ll light it, note it with conscience
every circle the sound makes marks us a different note
our difference is not separate because it
made decisions to relate
having plucked a different string
the vibe arranges it at varied rhythms
bowl of yellow sound
imperfectly it circles
if not to finish
boundary two
my mind’s brushed waste
frothing with guilt, polish loss
chant the boundary
if i step on dawn
my belt flies free and knocks me
the skin of a door
one less painful contour
if the light which we change under together is
adorned with such
adorned with loss
a forlorn cache that puffs open
the marker wipes clean
The signs crawl empty around the boundary
A garden of hopes
arranged in a weird way, young plants blended
touch your feet and respect you
Why ignite a puzzle? You let go by doing it at all.
In a mini way we drop the heart of the looker, super the
flow, fly the certain. By picturing the message falling
we ground a constant, asking our bodies to respond
louder to the rock. I know your feelings fade.
Desperation is an avalanche.
If I were to let my hands flow and just tell you,
I might corrode the ladder. Touching letters like my
muscles mind the parallel. In the privacy you took the surprising
turn on the fork and pulsed into me, craving. Your flip pulled slippage from
my pockets and spelled easily. Two squiggles next to each other turned
into ribbons by adding little slanted lines. Forever forgot to happen.
Why allow the span to puzzle? You find beauty in light’s formula; symmetry folding surprise.
Like satisfaction the math of the breath pirouettes when you catch my heart wandering. The other luck teases your own control. How your desire shapes the waft, my first sense curdles. Some fear gives me paths to turn
away.
I found a loop, I’m knocking on the sky to say.
Abrupt tapping and observations, a divet where
water used to be suggests the feathered edgeless.
The branches reach out and repeat, I look through,
reach out and repeat it. I avoid the core, as if that’s where
the itch shames. On the city’s mountain, echo was
so close to the word it barely left it. I braid uncertain
gusts and look right at you. I asked how many times you had sung out to the expanse. Hummmmm mmmm mmm
You said, we get to witness the crescent rise. It’s so good to pee and look at it, my light follows in a soak of coaxing. We want to
learn how to feed source.
I dropped the glass of well water. The way I can taste my own mouth.
You said, what’s precious is no problem because we’re gonna
be again. Breathe in and lean back dreams later.
Do you feel received?
Redemption is a bowl of yellow sound, and listening is always imperfectly made. You tell me things all the time about who are you by the way you move. That you are alive, like any rock, is a miracle. Trillions of years of cause and effect that produced the outcome of you. And God willed it. Each thing, whether defined by time or space, is so fragile. That you are alive, like me, is obvious. In this existence, you hurt people. Redemption is listening, it is always remade imperfectly. I cannot help you. You can only try to love like wind. The wind forgives itself. It does not carry with it the weight of its path. I am folding the full redemptive cycle of love into you. I was put on this planet to live, to softly place my palm on your right shoulder here in bed and ask you to breathe in the soft lasers of air so to know you are safe because you are here. I cannot help you. You cause harm. Airports cause harm. We are threaded weirdly. You must step forward into the sky and change. You must seek to see the reactions that are set up within us. You must ask “What part of me moves through you?”
Redemption is a bowl of yellow sound. Listening is always imperfectly made, it moves and tells me. Like wind, we can take the threads of the sky and breathe softly beside harm. Love is always remade imperfectly. I fold my loop. To step into the light we must carry the path. The rock’s miracle echoes trillions of years of cause and effect. The miracle of the rock as it sits among our chewed gum and rot and prices. We know the color of magic is always transforming. The wind listens and lets go. I cannot help you. The wind doesn’t carry the weight of its pat
