sometimes the words are splintered and make more sense when they are said out loud-- trickle, hurricane, and a sweeping of the curtains

so this is difficult to admit, or say out loud, but it may be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,
the wire twists and here the wings form out of cast iron, how will they hold in the blistering air?

Tacks and nails, and the sharp edges of violets billow uncannily in the oceans.
so you say this is nonsense, but who are you to really know? there is sense,

look carefully,

maybe you will see it in the pauses

or lilts of this day

I too, always wanted the security of constructed sentences and phrases, but maybe there is something more.

faulting and stepping, the eyes flicker quickly in tune to the sounds of the grand experiment, nobody told you that you were a part of.

Have you met the other pieces of you, wandering the roads in the quiet glowings of the far off foreign lands that you should really be calling home?

Maybe you are nothing but the place everything seeks.