oh regretlessness! when must you excuse? but this is not to it, but you if you is when my thoughts reflect

understand this now:
we are these noises.

fallen on the gilded, we've
run among the wilderness
of the
two-treed--booted and torn
with the after-mathematics'
insinuated context of our
everyday's associates.

or so they said.

they--those that've
fled, those that
have golden,
that are those that
lost or left to us,
those that folded.

or so i said.

when i was saying what i
was saying about where i
was--without them--staying.