gentle scene forthcoming in juices tractable

commenced, how instantiated its noble rot

eats the berry punctuated vine—is’t eco-babel?

mystics look for cures to unknowing in mystery

because no abstraction too blurry, “sure, anysway…”

inflamed toward sight to be the Sense of Senses

the domain of grin and bare-it-all (lightly),

upon faces unflattering, and if I say we, see,

you’re not going to be calling me home

by another name except each place as you choose to

bear it, by small increments, events that please and dis-

identify rising at all but very few mornings

with any kind of courageous mannerisms

risks are given and chosen, not radically self-evident,

in a sense, all senses, the burden’s unfelt, naught and shaded

as a child’s knowing that she tries where she stands

to gain by aging out of certainty like the animal she is

is what she had to be by choice is no way

out of destiny and even the soft kick of November

lyrics do little of the necessary work of amor fati :

the world is all this noise that has to sting

any harmony is at once chaos caged yet not one note

breaks through but by parapraxis does a world:

hold on for the beholders, such things autonymical for

a poorly-suited tool with theories of private feelings

like failings of some watch out there somewhere again

ken (whatever it is (we have to check the math)), reset

the playlist that was perfect when Raphael shared it