chaste mountaintop is all the rage. inklings remain free in sudden
direction towards the gulf between air and life. the Selective Service
(your friend) proceeds into snow as deep as trendy restaurants. no one
asks for rhymes in this cold, and the respect of dying out loud seems
paler even than the dream of snow. are we resistant to change? I could
ask that, thinking other veterans want a place to sit, before tragic
chasms seem too perfect. Selective Service is a trust of people with
dun-coloured papers to be signed, thru ages on slopes when time doesn't
include all numbers. we remember exactly the numbers we could have, were
the warmth of the valley publicly traded. no question fails the patience
of Iran poised as Iraq. aren't Tibet and Nepal just pale imitations of
each 0ther? dictation of starchy emblems to be worn on uniform Selective
Service documentation isolates endeavours into corrals called
mountaintops. it all cries for deference in the sound. looking a little
chubby, each of us realizes in the breadth of our entry to proximate need.
the wind sound, then, hovers on a charge trusted for years. if we could
just... but then, what mapping wakes me now, as I stand alone on this
top moment? a whine as red as trusting the soul for food. I think I had
a day there, before the cold became more than ignorance of utter cranes
in marshy night skies. a victim of vacation timeshares ran up to me,
lodging complaint into my direct tv. as I rolled down the surface of
what I understood as grace for a period,t remendous cold seemed liked
the novel approach that I needed. I awaited a director to include
freshets spelled like tea. I would drink the warm potion, fit caffeine
into my system, and refine what I could refine. this strict district
needs a run of luck.
then: I reeled with messages from family members lost in their traits. I
suppose this is just practice.
then: I understood the passing of time into friends. I am glad that I am
the love of the living.
then: I examined an irregular heartbeat, not mine but familiar in the
proceeds.
after the trust of discussion, I came to the village for sure. my charge
came with me. I thought of Yeti in a crimson loaner, while the dismay of
mechanics involved a garage tempered in task management, and the old
buggy gets aspirated. I will see Yeti yet, I vowed, pleased to see words
in light. the invention of 4000 foot chasms seems excessive.
