I
was founded through mother, this locomotive, stranded at addictions; that feral
agenda, managed through practices, alarmed at normalcy: this structured chaos,
our security by measures, those urges tucked in closets; to know this voice,
this deep adherence, cultured by nomads: as a child whines, a mother gives,
this part to self as luxuries. I’m mystic deepness, this subtle fire, traipsing
a sullen circle; where apes are watching, shadowed by chimpanzees, our genetic
forest; to arise at dawn, trekking a loquat river, crossing a high-tide: that
steep frustration, as wanting Forever, to
find it by treasures our souls; where father groans, an infant at cribs, by
memory this sharp spark. I could to listen, as advice trickles, at currents
those motives; where sin was present, screaming our first name, tugging at
richness—to love by heart, this cryptic cadence, by choice our retreat; if
earth is gentle, our passion shall dissipate, seeping into gardens: that mauve
plum, those red oranges, that beige nectarine—where love is sheltered, that
trail of lemons, while to ruin a blouse: that blasé response; that steep
laughter; our memories swinging from vines; to harvest art, as more than seeds,
as a sickle tends to roots—to carve our names, as immortal souls, this feeling
of growing forever. I’m deep a star, pondering a swan, this need to fathom
longevity—as more acrylics, while painting faces, if but this gesture into
infinity—where horses gallop, peering at deer eyes, our juncture into cosmic
chaos—as justice calls, that peril of soldiers, our allegiance to sacrifice; to
mourn a gist, while seeking eternity, as to find self aloft our moon; this
gentle agony, while fleeing pages, as written our ties afar; that cultic slant,
as piercing our ribs, to measure at lengths our genetic coding; as pigeons
grieve, to sense such beauty, as ours is churning in wisdom; this strict
affair, cultured in love, where deers run freely.
