Because I only see you sometimes and then I have to hope that you might see me just as often
I bespoke my lead
Let it sail
I let you
Does not adventure
The same water
You are let out
I would have
Lots of it
You are the only person worth lying to (a very much in between poem, otherwise afraid of what there is to say; and Being about that)
I prefer to keep everything still
Because I am still to learn what it was
I look back in two directions
Just as neither knows anything about the other
The gaze abandons me and follows whatever.
My bad days cannot register a bad day.
I am not betrayed
I am left alone
And then every again you have to turn out
For a popularity of two, If two
Which it never is, It is a
Population of a more perfect timing
The way I am not left, even if alone.
World of difference made by a bad idea.
Not a world I want,
but the distance of that world not being.
I might as well fall in love first
And then deny the point
Of doing that.
With that said and never done
I might look back and tell myself what was
With that worst day voice
Always preferred with speeches about what is not
Likened to the sound of everything turning back in
After going around
After doing that
Mightening all is well
And nothing is.
The Breakdown (this one is not bigger than it is; I cannot do that: proof of this inability follows in the writing)
If something is the case, then it has to be the case.
If I am alone, I will await the timing of the contradiction.
If I were to explain my language word by word, I would not have to.
If I had looked at you only, I would not have been caught in my reaction to you.
If you are there, I am here.
If we are both somewhere, I will not measure the distance.
If you should cross the distance anyway, I would sit in the sand instead.
If I had had to tell an anterior lie, I would have leaped without a problem.
If the water and continent are set, then so is the beach.
If I am there, I will sit in the sand.
If you were there, I would swim out and count the waves by oceans travelled.
If, all that time ago, it had been any other way, I would have spoken to the sun and made it more perfect.
But if it is, then it is.
And if I am alone, then I will not tell the lies that I do not have to.
If I was to think all the time, and I do, I would be wrong most of the time.
If I had ever really been there, and not just now here, I would have made the exceptions to prevent any other beach from taking place.
And yet it is not, so it is not.
I am not there, and I will not remake the ocean.
It was never here, so I would not now retrace the coast.
And yet perhaps it had had to be here before it would have ever been in the distance: but I have never been able to think that far ahead, despite myself, despite the time I have instead to think about the language that could speak for itself.