Premise to Premise 

What’s philosophy but insanity? I ask, fully-aware of such a

premise. We slant and bend a troubled reality, grazing upon

theology. I fall to you; knees scraped and pleading; hands

soiled and muddy. And I feel you, screaming, begging for

wrists and blood. We devour such passion—long to live a spoken

Word. Embody such feeling: premise to premise; and thesis to

soul. I smile sorrow and flash a ghost, and thus, the same—a

woman proud; for sky to scrape, afflicted vision—aloft in

theory, graphing physics. I feel you and such sadness—bottled

in thunder. I volt to your name, heart trembling, and Christ

grinning; for deep asunder the earth of souls—the lost of minds,

trekking rivers. I remember your face pausing death. I buckled

and fell unseen. You took a hand and blessed a soul, filled with

love, grief and gold. But premise to premise, I can’t explain, the

deepest truth, a vex to brain. So fly a breath and freeze a tear; for

art to pain, the flame of peers.