Predicaments can unnerve; fabrication can amend. That is the Optique-the vigilance of foreshadowing impulse overturning an operatic note of sanctum -flapping haphazardly-like a deck of cards-shuffled at the circular edge of a turnstile door-bent backs leaping-crispness filleted- the beige carboard pulled open and upward, while a puffy heiress works off a debt to the circus maker’s arm- past the salted lips and fluttering shawls that cede a templed vanity, plucky audibles, robbers enlightened by ransacked moons and apologetic alarms. I am short, shuffle my seeds and am kingmaker to all chords, laborer to ember and octave. Occasionally, I ask the flask why being overlooked with laughter is familial to the wavy barbs of an overaged libation-a regimented, but unassuming mash swooshing amidst steel caverns of acidic staging, rounded by a leathery scarp that pimples skin, until the sky sweeps the sand to the edge of the brick-colored stars–impasse to cigars–at ribboned mast, hoisting an ashen glow of a spinning, smoky leaf – insolvent for twilight and temporal wings- luring puffs thru thicketed dew and clearing homerooms- a fledgling exhumed by billowing fractures of milieu and motif. I suppose the dubious procession of events-estranged and palliative- unnerved, manic tendencies opposing revelatory order-are more impactful as a pair of doves to a shadowy riddle than the swelling buds that roll the bubbles, compliments to the outswing of a touring grave-we graze until crumpled and sore, yet hauling more freight than railways can abhor-fears inscribed by doubled bags or hopes strapped by crispy, rubbled pages. In a more congruent passageway, my reclaimed honor scurries out past the chalky blue waters that line the boardy shores-swollen cupboards of posture and peace- serenity deflecting detection- a rarified obedience of holiday, denying the revelry that structures a spiritual softening-backing away from the matron ruler that carries the cup with sour taste. The differing of degrees- gradually chilled and darkening green- a mattress of moods searching for ankles from which to swing, breeching the twisting glare-where the once fluorescent hinges that were now pale and rudderless wait for cover and color, leaving the midnight offering full and the slippery handles ornamental- a high curtain blocking the cane from leading a reading without the spittle to spare. And then you were running, not for candidacy but for conscriptive art-a muted vine touched up by a swirling arc. I, flip-flopping the orders of operation- who was the beneficiary of a ripple overflowing- an executive that donates a log or a beggar who lends the oar? Still, blackened rhymes steer a destiny, compulsively changing outfits per staticky charge-symbolic of indirect invitation, all shares recounting the honest details of interest passing over – longing for acceptance consoles convenience, as solace celebrates the lout. To a catch, humanity is the exception-yellow eyed and thrashing-overplaying the laughter that binds opening pleasantries to the crumbs of the fifth course, but yet, the strong right angles of wrist to elbow, bicep to upper arm-never drooped or never raised. I bet you never cashed the credits for that run. Quite the feat, backing the street, cotton swabs to pad the misses, preachers raffling the parlent hisses, pinhole mirrors forcing rushing headlights to stand down, late night feedings and eclectic vagrancies, warped palms reaching far beyond what my strain had pledged, and what the bull had fetched by way of bribery-shined apples covering cloudy tears, early orientation at the ethereal emporium. Equitable charts, equal parts, liturgy flavoring sorrows with an unstirred swath of credible guilt and humorous shame. But at least my blame plucks the frosting from the waves, driving foam further and further out to sea, without the contrast, yellow would never heed me- the floating pull- stoic as a peddler not needing to bend-while underwater weeds follow orders to organize-to empathize-their sway is a current’s reward for an unapportioned sequence of alluvium-if only the spineless were as latent as the backstop- as extreme heat acquiesces to enduring pressure- to a new deck’s painted smell-unpacked and uncut-and yet, the tipped edge of artistry and anecdote hopefully goes unnoticed as a plentiful means concedes to a mismatched tell, tiny lights on a turtle’s shell-cramped swirls in a vagrant spell. The sun saves its most challenging questions for the unpatterned soldiers who sip their coffee far away from the dress socks peering under the backroom stalls-five steps fluffing the fiefdom. Are you amicable to wordplay dressed down as a series of suited coincidences? Innocence as a nickname-a busted, chubby king, innocence as a habit- a shortened whisker found inside the melting cubes of a politician’s lemonade. In the shade there are only interchangeable marks for me and you-the lore balances the whims-as envied as an unbroken horizon pressed into action on a gambler’s limping ship- new hands at first light, a magician’s revision of escape– drying off in a fitting room where nothing fits, but the procurer warms by prodding the hems, all patterns owe their sales to the limits of sanity. The insanity of piped hymns-never slagging with full conviction, nor cursing the first row of pews for bumpy luck. If you apologize loudly, the rhythmic scheme is closer than what the whispers sell to stay. Maybe your natural order anchors the entire, privileged burden, still no matter the tremors of last resort, muffled bells claimed as loamed retort, promises to dip your toes, uncurled from time to time, patience is the aversion to an ode that makes amends-a pilgrimage to pocket change-consternation amongst the feathered, chirping aside a clown’s limerence , soggy martyrs unsure of who is the leak and who flicks the story from the fluted thread- burrowing rust, buttered noon dust- a pale pen tilts the sane from the echo’s refrain-bluffers twist the sheets in their own bed.