Seasonal Attic Lights
I swear you understand
the height of water
nothing more than a needle
the voice is a vessel
To hear the faces in the glass
curious terms to the purchase
I urge you to push through
I will go to the ripple of echos
as sound expands to nothing
Absorb the mention of the moment
with the largest of wealth
Resting on each laugh
Descending from our mouths
Attach us to the track
knowing if we get loose
we will be coming for you
Yield the hands on deck
as to destroy the sorrowful
Think through your continued contradiction
and act.
Walt Whitman is ahead in the fourth quarter.
I hold random acres with cinematic apparatus
while windows reflect a steady breeze
~NWL
