I thought of dreams, meshed with chi—this fantastic scream;
where life is platonic, this embedded friendship, as ships sail to sea. I found
us weary, clinging to postures, as certain this anxious calm. But more to
dreams; this feral island, where comets dare to trespass; this enriching
cry—singing to dreams, while dying to screams; whereat, is mercy, to put it to
mind, this mourning grace. I perish to midday, delightfully one sighted, as a
complex heartbeat; where science becomes human, this inner chemist, singing of
a dream; while magic is industry, this arm of solace, this guild of terrors; as
to cross terrains, holding to one last symbol, as mystical as medieval times;
wherewith—my soul, this undisclosed agenda, spearheading a dream; where souls
rest, as genuine arms, seeking where spirits grow wings. I’ve said so little,
as searching a scream, where art is but fashion; this Gregorian ache, seated in
soul-pores, dying for exfoliation: to know this rapture, or even this dream, as
elusive as prose; with more to mind, chiming as exospheres, as vast as noon
tides. I thought of dreams, to pickpocket life—our Father, this inner glitter;
while purging souls, this manicured grass, enmeshed in soil; to have this
dream, traipsing evasive nights, where something is wrenched in love: to fall
as doves, or race as jackals, too conservative to trespass. I speak of dreams,
whelmed in silent screams, where hearts erupt. I speak of closeness, this
forbidden touch, where two share warmth; this inner scientist, this artful
transmitter, this deliberate projection; while to furnish souls, crying to
sensations, pausing as to digest chi; indeed, this dream, this un-vetted dream,
this thief traipsing through darkness.
