Open secrets.

Triple at the open secrets of what one pluralism is 

Anothers found a screen for saving and where it’s personal 

Heaven is often a hell with illiteracy lingerie misspelt flours

found on the fairway and played in fairweather forget 

freedom is not popping candy they throw from throated

Rollneck windows wound down from the pile of jumpers 

That they wished to aerial dry microscopic specimens or in

Keepers of a nickel pillbox gyrating for a house full of wet seats 

drilled stars for the ego to freely flow from bare faced skin

when you wish to write something a pen might bring 

The breathing space cursory arrows falling 

in love with the wrong crowded street.