All of it posthumously placed in pretty little brackets, pl=ease

There are these surefire artists with their words cut-off, which wish to bridge unnecessary gaps with the weight of their persuasive masterpieces – Cast in alabaster stone, only piercingly prone to giving breathless birth to the bespoke aside desirably suggestive Underbelly Deluxe

Deluge – Fails to riotously refuse yourselves just this one time, please
Bare with We and bother yourselves just this once
To beg us
To come gently back to belonging again… Upon this one single beneficial necessity

And at the drop of an inescapably pretty penny for… Our each and every very next favourite-best thoughts

Of a topically enhanced century – That dialling-down, eerily magnificent ability to forever capture, both quench it all
At full, firsthand f-l-o-w

Took the length, both breadth of their introvertly superior, imperfectly perfected blind-minds

And she pushed it irreversibly against
A place of peacefully paralysing rewind – They won’t mind!!

And simply, altogether fair valiantly set
To superficially sprint ten-times-too-many
Up until…, The strength of the hanging clock strikes twice as hard
Pardons itself til set at serenely insane

And we are all of us so very exceptionally soon – Beginning at feeling it
For Real this time
Beneath the whistle, both whisper of these natural-born winds

Gilded wings which bring, both spring with them

These perched parched blamelessly inept to understanding placements, up until…,
Nestled excitably back upon
Her coldest shoulder going… Ignoring the hard graft as supposed to the war her words which fought

For a barbaric amount of peace and perfectly imperfect quietude

Unwinding and waiting – Forever unknowing of something extra-specifically, particularly radiant in sellotaped sedation
Namely the posthumous – humorous – weight of our favourite best books

We have, HAVE TO… HAVE. TO. NEED. TO. LOOK A LITTLE BIT FURTHER SO WE KNOW to look
Steeped in equipped glory – For these blue-chipped minds finally made-up
Both for and gently of…
Themselves

D
e
l
v
e
Yet Again – Blinding and minding no-one else’s business but for their very own cyclical cycle of
Succinctly specific, support-surround people anymore

Sitting in their sinking-chairs and it feeds
Right by
The weight, both width, of their ink-ridden aptitudes again

Be rude not to unpardonably digress just a tad too much anymore
Plus posthumously – humorously – preparing to die
For the quantifiable might, both right…
Of
An abstract life

To catch momentary fire…
Oh, my, what did she just write?