Twenty-three percent when placed under intense pressure did in fact kick the door in. Soldiers creep on the other side of the turn. Every little thing is destined for ease. Music, be still. Keep the mannequin secrets to yourself. Remember a ladder can take you both up and down. The weather grows less stable than us. This line here is where the season starts. Spring seems fluorescently golden. Too much milk in the fridge. When left alone long enough, the prisoners began to interrogate themselves.
Directive for Ascension
Let the words we frame and chisel contain
the same language of those before and those
to come. If this moment is a place, let rain drift
to an elsewhere. Let our arrivals rise up
like the Estivant Pines. Let atoms
be atoms. Let song be song. If a moment
gone-by does not return, let the breath of a streamline
contain what you need. If sleep serves
a purpose. If memory divides the night,
let grace braid the strands. Let the lake be an eye
we stand upon and let mind be a way
to the body. If you fear death,
live within a pause. Let the mind envision
its exhaustion. Let procession slow down.
Let the mind become pollen. If sleep serves
a purpose, let acceptance be an orchid,
living only because of the climate around it.
If the world within this world holds us to truth,
let truth be a construct we use to know the past.
If water rises and falls, let it be because
of the moon and its pull. If the frame
becomes more useful than what it contains,
let eyelid divide light, let glass be more than glass.