How is there a street thunder clap on a day like today? It would be a darling thing to be in a mist all the chaos and noise, to long for it. Habits have returned and with that the headline is branded! However, we are unable to establish that as the case for court, something more concrete is vital. We shall never prove 'not guilty!'. Not really. Confuse, entertain and suppress the jury, that is what we must do. Suffocate them on their own upheld conventions and twist their previous conceptions. There is too much, too much. Sunlight. It dazzles and betrays. The darkness; kind in it's secretive nature. He lay with me but understood to not push boundaries. He said sweet nothings to me, but kept me. Here. Surprising. No one does that now, how could that be? I think I was afraid. I think I may have shown my persona.
The Mad perseveres.
I become five in uniform and much older in bed.
I play the part at the outing but;
Wish to be drunk instead.
I cannot find logic where it can't possibly exist.
Yet, it is sweet to find mutterings in the dank of this abyss.
My head talks in constant poetry, sometimes iambic.
Yet, when the pen meets the page there is nothing left to rhyme with.
That half rhyme hints at disjointed, corrupt words. I cannot use the perfect word for it represents too much else. Psychological, philosophical or emotional? Poetry reflects on life and significance of structure. Remember, remember form, language and structure. Repetition of those swam in my head, no wonder the official paper was left empty! How I should long for the dread, dread, dread. Dripping cold water; it hits the same spot. Spring is coming, soon we'll see the true lover's knot. Today won't be the same, and it will be forgot. So I leave you with this, with out encore, the jury said that they'd pass judgement later, in this case they knew they'd found a failure.
Matt Allen Photography is beautiful.