Late amounts, soundtracks with pulleys, suspicions... gazes overlaid
w/ speech you keep delaying. An investment vein to punch
my gravitation to helplessness in quibbles of commuter water.

Taut shortness of thought, suspicions, you’re an emulation of a man
no way limping, standing up without sticking, detouring into turf,

choo! Uccello in the roof car unhinged, bartending! That’s your sound. If you stand
if you speak if you kerchief

you’re keeping suspicion warm
to the bridge of his nose.