By Coastlines through Cities

I drove that place, feeling facial tics, alive but waning. I remembered tomorrow, our beating sparks, flavored with ecstasy. We live exclusivity, a tease by nature, if but to feel elevated; this cry for solace, effaced by theories, at tears concerning genetics; those casual gusts, our treasures to whispers, while demented as selfish souls—where this is life, our palms reaching, our inevitable moon-rise: that sheer coldness, as amazed by sins, floating as a freelancer—that wrenching feeling, sorting through ‘ologies, forbidden to dance—where grills are flaming, our hats are tilted, our minds under surveillance. It’s bold to chance, as feeling it die, where reality becomes that beast of burdens; but days are beauty, while nights are daisies, while daughters muse their brains. It drifts with practice: It dies intensity: We shadow our mirror’s lies;—if but to perish, a bit exaggerated, a bit to feathers; to know it comes, by flavor to grins, as appearing nonchalant; but more to falling, in eyes that gorgeous death, as to gain insanity through beauty—that sorrowful sol, built in bliss, as a giant or more a genius. I’ll write such tears, at tales to know nothing, while reminiscing through frantic storms; as but his life, while given to trespass, amused by cells speaking of Sienna. I read this life, racing down Pacific, headed to old grounds—to have that feeling, to culture this soul, where days flicker into nightfall(s): that deep essence, burning with furry, as listens this monk to mirrors: that attic nightmare; such fetching as tragedy; while steep this feeling of appreciation: to die with time; our sagas as stitched; our devices as cultic; as streaming through children, alert by nights, one fevered for falling into ecstasies; or more a symbol, as religious as art, a set of pantomimes to cross journeys; where ghosts tinker, by chase a sentence, to have elevated his brains. Such is magic, that deep reception, a fledgling at graduation: while dying we lived; while living we died; as two dissimilar souls—while such are sameness, fleeing through mystic portals, by chase a tragic invention.