Tossed pejoratives have narrowed the field. Out back
The grass grows while stasis and beautiful sunsets go hand And heart. From the north the glove is removed.
Satellite pictures gloss the subject. A vast patina
Has descended. “And, am I glad to see you.”
Others find the fog and traffic a distillation connected
To the end times like the frost on the lawn that stretches
Away from early times. Discontent has moderated
The flow of things around the basin.
Tasks were started up and rejected
Out of hand. Perspective is a two-way street.
Dinner arrives quietly comforting no one.
A tossed narrative, such as this,
Disjointed such as it is, links the shy
And the bold in a leap time devours.
Indirectly I still love you.
This essence is not linear.
Encouraging modal tones over abrasion
Is the way we survive.