I
dream for dreams, an ocean wide, sinking into blue. I’m
here,
feeding on energy, swarming off oxygen. It was ever
us,
nearly stranded, fending for self. How dare a world, as
cruel
as venom, fully enraged. We died, to blossom tulips,
where
death crept slowly. I listen, fully enchanted, to trek
a
vacuum. I love it spinning, to chase dreams, a young
fantast.
She speaks so gray, as mystic as yellow. We ponder
mountains,
to climb mudslides, a mad disposition. I cry
for
it, and no tears, grieving in spirit. Was it pash, a sore
infatuation,
gripping fantasies. I ask, a purple groan, to
trickle
a life-force. It’s leaking, even oozing, dripping
through
sprinklers. I’m there, a grain of grass, a glass of
pressures;
and ever this mare, creeping through thoughts,
as
mystic as invocation. I relish gray, a grand guitar,
growing
gears gangly; thus for night, to walk therein, to
clamp
a voice; but what of love, for years adrift, speaking
through
prose. I see her, fully defensive, to play pretend. We
flit
to fly, a frown of fever, forever flushed. I pause, to
catch
for vague, a volt to vanish. Is it more, a sudden
vibration,
as
vivid as vacuums? I ask, stippled dearly, a wealth of dots.
I
can’t for grab, a vision bare, screaming imperfection. We
field
a lake, the grandest splendor, as distant as wild lions.
I
fall to it, a beauty breathless, amazed by heaven. She peels
a
plum, and plucks an orange, a pressure made valid. We
part
for pieces, a sign for bread, ever to disappear. I’m fully
passion,
a bit anxious, to wake up screaming. A ceiling is
crashing,
an age has come, a blunder is now a miracle. I
hit
for streets, to unbolt self, a symbol of this tension. How
to drift, a feeling
taboo, a picture at an office?
