When the only thing holding you back from
joining the velo are cymbals that are visibly
risen and the keys cut to a city that saw you
lost in the sinkholes you failed to tack.
like the temper you couldn’t dialate
Those riveting attempts to disguise yourself
the tapes playing in seismic eyes
the ruby koi kite that couldn’t launch to fly.
the catfish barrelling In the sky can decide.
Seasons fell away to atmospheric discontent
four motioning of the numerical positive
twenty nine counting the magnetic overlapping .
That made me run a mile to hyperventilate
In opposing directions of a educational idealism
The Bowls Of dirty gold and the template built
In the sleeveless leading insects into prayer.