Chaos, Part I

Leaning tree like leaning against it without any thought for what it might be I seek and hunger and yearn but never despair of the better things that elude me.  Strive, striven, thought.  Never to digest and immaterial things can't press down with equal force on the delays inherent in trimming beef from fat and nature from space.  Utterly undelectable dinner fragments torment my figment and delay my fears from that which is humble and sortable to that which is greasy and profound.  Never distinguish gibberish from that painless moment of unintuitive desperation where separation and digestion have a two-pronged fang of terror that inhabits and inhibits the heart from more rotund concerns.  Relax and don't dismay the others who think that there's purpose to seeming adjustment and adjustment to lost persons.  Round the head it swarms like bees in a parade seeking lemonade from the shirt of the three year old watcher.  Parade, charade.  Neither one expresses much but both evoke something much more and much less than perfect.  Aye.