Of you...

These pains are not constant. They come and go like wind in our sails. Solace found only in pictures. I don’t want to be of you anymore. Of the next thing, universe never shift. This parking lot is full of night creatures that don’t feed, but rather eat that which is leftover. Now is your pretend but my realwalk off and talk-aloud. Elusion in our grasp. You are the yearning, you are the needful. I’ve lost too much water from my eyes to be bothered by any drought. Vile paintings and the molds you cast do not resemble me. I have become something unassembled, through a perspective easily attained. It’s not righteous to make the beverage from the river bank silt, you must wade out and wait. Avoid being pushed downriver by the strong current, use your weight. Avoid. Step away. Be cautious.