I’m cultured barely, to have learned of souls, this need to
feel. It’s quite different, than merely being, this faculty of dreams. I’ve
left visions, entwined in madness, as sickness such thoughts. We yearn
temperatures, this desert desire—a cactus as our symbol, a faucet as our rain;
to knit our punctures, as to monitor our swans, forever such casual worries. I
knew a gem, whereto, was love, this visage as a séance: with need we crave, a
slave of that feeling, as to strangely let go: this nighttime pain, this early
morning joy—our days a sequence of small events; plus, for thumping hearts, to
know for mindful, a friend somewhere this consciousness; but I’ve learned to
see, as steeped in concentration, to trespass our journeys: this woodcut
feeling, this gothic ouch, while blind to evolving feelings; as dreaded
emotions, this kiln as a family, as watching for splits as culture. I’m alive
grieving, as to hamper this thought, but love permeates our deepest woes; as to
dream a swan, or to re-filter, Precious, this axe mutilating worth; to flee as
finally—that inner drive, as sitting with Spirits; this faraway land, an island
at heart, a cave of prophets; whereby, we flourish, this cycle of perishing, to
puff a clove and knit a dream; some vague faculty, at home with souls, to
proclaim proudly, Our tides have learned;
of something acute, this fair goodbye, where islands engage turquoise
magic; as blue for seasons, while sable for ventures, to blend as one that
deeply crossed; as always this life, this endless measure—our eyes dipped in
cognac! I found a friend, as we shall never meet, ever entrenched in vegan
prayers; to live this fast, while weeping in leaves—pure moons a patch of
secrets; as gendered this swan, as pure as mood-swings, to shift through city
lights; to peak and perish, to flourish and cry—somewhere this valley of
kindred souls; as born this love, pushed through crevices, at core with a group
of professors.
