A steep and sudden drop in the wrist, neatly imprisoning asking to be – put on the whole show
At the preparatory pace and singularly puppeteering from centimetres of exceptional dexterity
A fashion forward then right then left itself fall back and complete bouts of this brought together by steely virtuoso – the levels increasing
Still moving, still dancing until around about seventy percent of its time spends itself wasting away
Doing the other things, carrying laughable items that hold less than less value, abstaining from the impatient page wherein its patient owner fears nothing but it – and the romantic, cyclical implementation voluntarily vilifies everything but for its own pure poison
We drink from the addictive l-ink thinking that we can somehow manage to create, come back stronger … we can’t
Shan’t ever manage that what wasn’t made to be managed just liberated till death do its saviour in
They either fill their pockets in and walk with the edge of stone/cold reason or they take it on the glass chin and drink through it – either half forever brilliantly pained by two of the same
The writing might be oft not soft enough to suit this particular century’s age-old visionary tale of commonplace squanderings yet, still, the structural equality speaks of sweet and necessary eagle-eyed resilience
Turns away to turn this page on its face, dog-eared and deceptively given to finding its own way back in
Like a fast-forward masterstroke of mistaken failings
