my feet are birds on whats left of the trees

the dream reconciles me

living here without goodbye

& so you know that somethings wrong

an atmosphere a general

abnormality where needs of

affection transgress boundaries &

ghosts arent laid to rest

this is the kind of dark we move in

& the breaching allows eruptions

under an imaginary cover our desires

erect them permissiveness whispers

it would take dangers but

romance is a danger itself & is a flat any

different are all pulses ends in

themselves beans counted once

& forgotten

there could

be so much we could do with within these

social patterns so delicately enforcing decay

time is of the construction &

expectations formed during

the cold war of infancy so therapeutic

no doubt yet perhaps damaging

also the general echoes in unexpected

attitudes how is power distributed &

to or is it assumed

though each environment takes on its own cast

a breeze blows out a candle the

mistakes layer themselves in

a life & we walk on ever headier beds

peas are needed each pale &

single child the wreckage

divested within easy distance

sort it out & carry it back down the steps

greatness

among the most domestic rules