I
met it a self of self wrapped in futures. We shared a grain, a soul asunder,
for
churning parts; and flame featured friction, to wrestle an overseer. We
took
the woods, for gestalt fevers, an inward affect. I thought for notes, to
key
but one, where many danced unattended. We merged for essence, to
flee
for power, a state of anxiety. The lights were loud, for rounds of Q and
A,
an inner compulsion. Being for split, but whole in parts, to sit midair. I
mailed
a feeling, a missing stamp, to address self.
I drift to find, a déjà vu, framed
in mindstuff; for we perish, a reborn
valve,
a bit for hypomanic. Its frontal lobes, and mystic rites, breathing
fumes;
and then awake, the deepest insight, sober come epiphanies; and
more
to spirits, a carnet wine, a russet plum; for die to grow, and grow to die,
skiing
through psyches; and see it raw, to sculpt to culture, to witness life.
We fuel a dream, the two as one, a
state of clear; but friction tore, the
depth
of self, where mother cried. It was ‘llucinations, and feyic realms,
where
self broke a valve. I saw for dungeons, a soul’s escape, a tide to fences.
The world’s amidst,
to see for shattered, a war never ending.
