with good eyes to see
Lauren Marie Stevens
in its full self importance and which always relaxes to breathe smally under the stars,
gradually unassuming the indignant eyebrows of in-brooders who forget
and are always redeemed at the clearheading of simplequiet footing thru the scree;
dressed for its indecision the marks want characters like children want unreasonable demands
the goldentremble of worth stubbornly insistent on its own preservation of sentiment
constantly dumbed by itself and unsure of the reproductions of sensation,
poems thick-winged with honey, what of them, vigors and sensors taking off ’til dawn
and barely able to make sense of itself, acorns rolling around disruptively in attics,
squirrels chewing at the roof, linguistics, the agriculture of thought,
roots sown in purpose + predetermination (“prethinking”), while it can still dream
wistfully of the nomadic folklore ribbony with hard success, coins with holes tied
to skirts, braying and fortune teller hands swimming in some regard thru the
decades, hardly able to make sense or bring itself to be frank, what happens
when sentiment is divorced from its currency?, dubious to its abundance bank
and rifling instead thru the wickerbasket rummage sales to decorate a mildly
unrealistic attic of discomposure, rife with craftsmanship and time, aesthetic and
tawny ability with good eyes to see with and a morning racket of understood
animals while one stands bemused and attentionpaying in the shiny kitchen of
ritual and tradition like another family member is a version, warming their bones
for a little different reason
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