"Forever Falling –Fine– Through Perfect Plaid"

Studies of cinema, books or His-story,
two seated with room, discussing policy,
while a fly, highly on a wall
–a foreigner–
as though not intended there to be,
sprawled, 'nother yet
but not any.

Consistently movieng about
–supervisor of their persons' reactions–
one mentions 'gainst socialism:
"We're not meant with congenital intention
for rigid exertion, and not to pay."
"But still he does," thinks I directly,
as then they speak of end,
...and SMack... I become it.

...when you know too much
and all you ever crave to make
—just a halt to process
and tell someone you once knew.

I only fall for-ever-with
(Sometimes completely permeable)
(Probably representing her form)
a leaf –you– may I breathe...?
Though in this place, you, there's no need,
still I long for no one more.

And in this, you being free, I think to say,
"Don't appear and pass, My Leaf.
Once, may you I use to fly up 'round with birds?
Please! constantly with you."

It lasts what seems as hours,
but then give the tip of nose,
which operates as now it glides,
and sharply downwards I fall.

In panic, I almost forget
how the process works
–Everything of what I think.
Yet things I force to feel unfortunate
as I pass through them
and they, My Leaf.

Purest Sand of White,
all of you I never dream to fail.
Clip of screen which was to filter so I may breathe
of all, no value 'cept for feeling,
and yet more I wish to give you;..
it's now just whether you let me.

Now of rainbows through me
–I want nothing more at that point than and then
to tell you of this experience:
"It is as though for-ever falling through perfect plaid,
and you are, and so make it, Fine."