We
tap into—this infused force, to purchase by concentration: this beloved myth,
founded through experience—your eyes my detriment; to censor life, as enlove
with life, wanting for understanding; this plagued polarity, sessions at souls,
to remember your tremors: this dark place, that irrational fear, to hug me at
trembles. It’s long to live, this caged bird, while to hear us singing—of glory
this fire, our christic woes, encapsulated in powers; to hush those pains, as
ingrained in prints—those paws gnawing at feathers: our delicate cries; our
mothers feuding; where fathers stand at a loss. I told a psych, a bit for
weary, to concentrate on paranoia; for this is law, to feed that vest, as to
perish from offshoots. Its magic that thought, to receive your chi, this
mystery by miles; to tumble through seaweed, or chisel at plankton—this deep
upwelling; to crawl forever, seated at a sidewalk, a bit too manic too speak;
where Chrystal came, this beautiful Wiccan, where fevers grew unto nothing:
this life of souls, our christic arts, inflamed through ghosts within; to see
you fly, this favorite soul—our nights stationed in chants.
It
never ended, but it never started, while to harmonize illusions; this space of
souls, piecing realities, to ask a psych a simple question; to receive
textbooks, as opposed to truths, enflamed with Sufis; this miracle mile,
whereat, are pains, whereto, is experience; to sale a dream, as something of worth,
to chant into a frenzy. I know a Zenist, this small woman, as large as
glaciers—to forward forever, even our affliction—your eyes sleeping in agonies.
I tried to speak, but struck with aphasia, to reckon your mother: this stern
woman, that lenient father, as both rotate into tsunamis. It had to live pains,
while struck through joys, to consider concentration; to feel it burn, while
looming afar, this scar by chase our dreams.
I’m
hearing love, rooted in forests, our stumbling humanities; to picture silence,
as but a string, adrift a sea of fires; where love is you, painted as forever,
to meet God through woman: this blatant challenge, as to open our eyes, this
word by chance our segues. I’m hearing chants, adrift through tears, typing as
to realize destinies: this flaming pain, scarred for life, as enlove with
Christ; this Holy Ghost, this furious Yahweh, to stream unto a trance; where
love is pure, this rich experience, to give this life; as to slant a swan, or
to plant a geese, this man by shames a goose; where rain is dripping, as sulfur
settles, while tenors echo.
