Wander upon grain of would
And feel yourself misunderstood
Despite attempts to reason
For a doubt that helps to lesson
The felt treason of the clout, eroding wind

The pressure and the ringing
Antithetical to singing
Slowly slivering the seething
Of this most unwanted teething
Clear the ramparts
The dust that swirls where feet no longer tread
Winds that blow unbuffeted by apish form instead
Leftover tendencies toward competition never quite resisted
By petition for a more careful existence
Hard to see this

Stream of conch-ousness
The sealess bliss
Of memorandum activus
The way the words cadence and twist
But never stretch to stress or slip
The way the feeling fire soars
To rhythms and patterns of yore
Tempus from the salty shore
Beats that know not what they’re for
But simply are and simply roar
Cast from stars that burn with the anticipation of mystery