Freedom is delay on alarm every blossoming rose has stalks diligently bearing,
and minds do little else than swindle dreams in hypnopompic states;
dreams which attempt only to evoke the trivial
from hearts which field sleep, binding life in battle
to dream all dreams
but of one kind.

Here, electric souls speak of concern;
...we talk through thought alone;
I—with the pressures of seven lives
arriving to disconnect mine,
surrounding my utmost edifice
and calling it
"The combined efforts of all,
we, these items of existence
in days spent --all for nothing."

These clauses-written are but small things to spend see others assess the value of reflection,
as though there were an acute shortage of mirrors.
But with my numerous rhymes
in verses of vast numbers,
I am not without fear.

And with this pain from harm,
I discover We judge,
as though they could live as I do
and not be as I am.

Thus, I think to love all those as I plummet...
Any means to live
--even my jump,
a stumble.

I note not to hit the network below,
put forward there to view our distinctions of love;
as they disconnect me from six forms that sit as I do
--In pairs.

This angst is not real,
this smoke from breaths of others;
and yet, still I find the need to make adjustments when positions become too comfortable,
when voices speak of fine subjects over songs which demand traps,
and forms arrive to ask, "What's necessary?"...

"Nothing. I await others."

Why seven heads would bow to chance
while destiny awaits in search of support
from something of...
That which cannot be done twice.

So read now and benefit little from it,
then write as though you did;
as with a sigh I be-rid you villains,
for yawns awake from dreams of better yesterdays.