We
spin through cycles, afflicted with chaos, as grounded as two squirrels.
It’s
difficult to manage insanity, bred through clarities, to miss it when it’s
gone.
I
filtered a fancy, to realize dominions, as suffering without tugging. It’s deep
enchantment, as knowing aloneness, but prayed for by secrets. I fathom
qualities, to imbue a swan, as thankful for a cygnet. It mustn’t be pain, this
cultic interview, where every answer is wrong. We manufacture memories, for the
sake of healing, as restructuring illusions. We die through life, as life through
death, as the kef of anxieties; to hold but one smile, to have but one grain,
to live a heartbeat as centered; for I’m falling softly, as rising gravely,
addicted to the angst of faith. I know for fires, this inner séance, our
outward scars. It must be tears, as one so beautiful, to pursue such chaos;
where distance is law, the law of distance, webbed as a tension of treasures.
We must be seen, as appreciated deeply, our hands reaching through cities.
I
love a vision, this confusing maze, a woman as a mystery; where hell
negotiates, as to assist heaven, as to mold preachers. It’s the deepest riddle,
to fathom Job, as one weary of repenting prematurely; for this is chaos, to
channel fear, where fear is rendered as appropriate.
