I only got so far as to how I be for got.
What if the sunlight doesn’t bend right,
And my summon of seasons light darkly
If not for the wayward curve of lessons weighted slightly west, the rest of my dim return to reason, all avail the seated slight of paper and a writ to question your Maker, the rule of all words bending to suppress your gait.
So as fate goes to arm you it’s slung guilt, does not the appellate wand wave it’s sparkle to course me all feats of feature formed to fancy me a hapless rift of facticity~ lead me battered and born restless spurning righteousness to the left of things beside the road.
Lift your ignorance to defend me.
I plead perfectly the pose of posterity. Hung. And slave the conscience to draw me the criminal of cost; that I be the nonchalance of Justice as she straightens my crown and I dine on the demons that will me to suffer
indemnity to publicity and deem Doubt the opportunity to seize me instrumental provocating a pause in the break between real and fake, if you’re asking.
Patterns perceive me perfectionless,
with no address to consciously compressed
thoughts I compose to cure me
the hard lead of whence I feed your forethought
with thinks instead
rather I be led by links
and templates that by your structure
(computably compressed by a now collapsable eternity and valueless still my endlessness so conditioned to cure me)
Posterity shall have its record of me immutable and miscalculate modernity posthumously.
Let poetry adorn me instead with a puffy head, coquettishly.
Congratulations, Dr. Middleton.
Had I not sle\pt through centuries, elliptical principalities of post-proximity
would make me an anomaly
As things were nominal to tick the minutes toward me, you were nothing but pulling me toward pieces of patience, having no will to pin against me, but wile.
And I am waiting the worst of time to seize your sight upon me,
And all my weapons of precocious ferocious sensuality suppress me to stay, awake as I were to address you hopeful to see me casually
As I conduct myself baneful in your captivity.. Here
To have facets of your face pierce into me the querulous quantum of reality.
Have your way with me
With no means to fulfill my wantoness.
Stay stationed to cure me the compensation of your caress, as the day suspends me…. Suspect to kiss you.