Sunday, December 18, 2016
By Face a Gesture
Give
us life, infuriated with dreams, courted by shadows; this art by treasures,
this measure as holy, something akin to this travesty: our miracle minds, this
source of all things—so lavish that feeling as tragic. We gain to lose, this
fragment of self, enchanted by some menial space; as losing mankind, this
feature of a goddess, that goodness we find in deaths. I loved her deeply, as
some type of fool, where she refused to love. I see her now, some fool by
ropes, plotting her next miracle. It had to live us, this fraction of persons, as
coals fell upon breath; that terrible land, as one cast away—this night by
terror; those waves as free, while to plummet that figment of sanity, as never
before he swam. I loved a phantom, this error by lights, as never before that
alive; to mention merely, this thing about breathing, to owe so much those
troubles: as dying his life; while fighting to compose; this toxic, his
measure, a voice; as living in grays, that inner conviction, a storehouse by
mercy—those pelagic eyes, that color as controversy, as one dies to nurture
pale flesh. I had to say it, as seeing a disjunction, in that as said, and that
as lived; this miracle motion, as but a moment in time, while seeking something
a bit lavish: that curious cache; that pictured perfect image; those years he
dies to retrieve; as wrought in sadness, to spend nearly it all, where love
vanished for riches. It couldn’t be life, this wrestle through thoughts, this
fire by fraction a scar; and yet to live, this ocean of wails, cleaving to dice
that chatter: that type of Clorox, or maybe a Doubleshot, if but to retreat
through entrance: that furious love, that mandated dream, those tears by chance
his mentor; to become a priest, in so many words, with little demand of
approval; to love by arts, this egregious soul, as to flee where brows would
contact; this fabulous lie, this redemption by sin, alive somewhere and lost. It
had to see us, this two for mayhem—something eternal—while saying nothing, to
have said enough, this love by face a gesture.
PS.
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