Something Perennial

Looks like an army of termites in the Australian outback. A father’s voice as near a cry as a a tingling can get. This is his way of saying I’m sorry.

The pings and texts darkened sight you still dare to bring up the past. His only pain. Distraught neuron clings to memories. His clothes shoelaces earring lucky charm and distant smile. Then chatter and new slang. Here now. Small talk and politeness measured passing time. Playing her game face. Her joke.

Take over emphasize project representation and feeling before you realize that everyone sees in double identification. Just give us some fresh air.

She barely passes tree stumps tangled in weeds and thorns. On those posts he continues to deep carve arrows and signs before she is already lost. Bending backwards he coos where is it when loss cannot be observed.

They think of images over truncated time. A bulb. A reflection. Thinking repetitions, knowing that endless pathological loops only stop you from feeling the real burn and valuing true beauty.

You say too many words unexpectedly and later leave. The shrill gust calms the termites to rest. You carry those hollow eyes that emptiness everywhere you go.

Die Melancholie ist seelisch ausgezeichnet durch eine tief schmerzliche Verstimmung.