Even if I did leave this heartened wed night of acorns, blasting my presence like a candle burning bright noise and tattered praters

Reached in and pulled out a ridiculous poem, but that is the truth of the day and how God wanted it, essentially, (more or less), like a cause in a bakery

Filled with motion, as planned, the egress of the embattled candle lit curseur stealing a drift
like flag tattered resemblances crossing the nigh stripped crow, remembering out-shift on doe,
for now we age high, forgetting our primary contact in the mission, breaking formation, going alone
speaking to someone about the eggshells we have encountered and the possibility of remarkable

happiness moved to the front of pearl-laden circumferences like the power to wait tables and even
earn Jujitsu rhythms like colored shores on a balcony of forgetful lambast alchemy, within the colored lines, where iron frosts on colors not meant for dispelling her army, or coloring her wishing well
just a ribbon on the forecast of figured out harmony and meaningful double-stance that never

met the fair, or worshiped along the dotted persuasion of our broken system, ready to be taken down
ten dollars on a five cents hat, collateral payment for nurses and grouch endorsement of rats and stirs
like clamping Joe’s inner circle in a restaurant we frequented in a space without a bar, but a mixed emotion like a purse that will lay open, someone else takes the tab but me, anyone but me tonight

curse the lasted take down, across the measured raking of our consented rules
stems like missing flowers that never drew your temptation’s ghost or ghouls