R/ckets and S/ntries

the step winces on the terrible ground of given. the step is long ago. narrative told a maze or trope as membership buying, and loss fragments among every word. throws go wide. seasons risk shed and lax, all the pain of letting on. there are pipers in the breeze, hardened in wet snow and the grey posing as possible. are we full of mention or hear a word or two? thru the misted vibrancy of something something, loss of something. dead is cotton industry history, or some magnaminous mill by a river, failing exactly, so that you could say. saying seems enough, just as Thomas writes Common Sense, just as Emily flies with two butterflies, just as the green ridges remain. there isn't dirt enough to bury the dead, or there's love enough, or there's time enough, in all that intricate bending. the slate is 'clean'. history writes of ambition. rugged aliens of preached space/time exhaust hover in crowds of losing it. one trains to be lost in it, in the verifiable and verse, in heed and season, in deference and cling, in loud and varying, in jetpack and lurch, in semblance and love. flight entails process, the vestiture of verbs.