The wind blew with the decomposing intimation of fall. Not make sense? How can I? What is the point? Talking deep so no one understands how you speak. She stops and waits. For whom? Her warrant style dripping with frost and lust, swinging as trees willow. Make sense. It can and does for some reason with or without formula…Cars between lots while the streets scream in plebian tone “I’m ready for love!”
Rain is coming. It’s the best on concrete; trash blowing in bound circles with uncertain air. Music dictates. Rollercoaster move emotions in distinct ways as the emotions themselves become unclear. Becoming a Medical Desdemona, a symphony of singes that transform. Surveying with clipboard in hand. Mimicking the terrain for missing tillage while heart beats steadily and voices call out names. Care bears stare while lights strain in the daytime. Somebody lied, told a story and forfeited the truth all in one. Nothing much to see but a bunch and a pair of burgundy sweatpants. It’s too cold for skirts, yet pink ruffles wiz by unlike the flawless moon, a world masterpiece.
There is a lot you can find in a lost black girl. The knotty pine untied as the mind transforms into a world without limits. City limits, upward climb wile emotions roller in the rain. What do YOU think? Untied she strolls, her nameplate-emphasizing, blinging in script in so only the true can understand through the shine. The way is found in the sky meshing the bumpin’ car system with the decomposing intimation of the wind, two concertante, a big bertha scheme. Make sense now? Deep rollercoasters and lost funk burgundy schemes of real disembowel. It’s coming and it’s here!!!