(Our
solemn dreams, featured in hieroglyphs, while chasing similar visions). Our
resurrection, to feel that switch, while seated in terrors; (that boisterous
laugh, as concerned a weapon, finding its expression); to garner clouds, as
comparing chimneys, a glass filled with smaze;—or a soul chalked in soot, those
casual affections, that disappointment; as wanting for nothing, while losing that dream, to realize his wants: that pure
emotion; those crooked hankerings: that passion straddled to justice; to
blackmail life, to smear our mirrors—with a fist full of ironies; or dazed her
dreams, wanting that perception, where souls portrait a goddess: her bleeding
aches, to realize that life—afforded us one dream—where castles fall, adored in
agonies, smeared by existential(s): that scream about crows; that maze through
crystals; those chandeliers falling forever—to grieve our waves, those tears to
eyes, that psych gauging speech patterns; as lived our lives, or connected our
brains, while famished for Platonism—that curious dream, seated in furious
screams, while woven into christic fabrics. We move through vice, to shimmer in
fires, as but a glimpse to uproot lives: that sporadic chi; that rising
lantern; that séance music—this fine idea, as scraped through ideals, a bit too
romantic for love; as shoveled a heart, this cowardly lion, abashed by dreams
those eyes: if deep our rapture, than life our capture, if but a glimpse that
pasture: to love forever, as merely a dream, while to wonder of magicians; this
casual word, as affecting nothing, our symbols skipping—to find his love,
seated in mire, with such that glisten—as hearts to legends, or arts to souls,
while pouring paints: those lurid colors, as finding harmony, to reach out
brushing his face: this fatal dream, for it never lives, his soul melting
through crevices—to find this arc, as sung our Tao, where arms refuse
extension—that passionate fuse; that frantic embrace; that angst charged with
faith—as furious energy; or an ark for Noah, or a whale for Jonah—to carry his
soul, a favored returned, to realize an outgrowth: that cage as broken; those
dreams as awakened; our fingertips withdrawing; as died a soul, to live a fire,
where gestures disrupt harmony; as wanting something,
if not immortality, at least, unyielding worship; as buried a dream, while
chi is rising, but a picturesque jewel—that clump of grass, shaken by moons,
that fabulous firestorm; as heard a name, that fresco enchantment, as embedded in brains; where life is moving, that steep epiphany, to wonder of a second
convergence: this inner wildfire, that unsung baritone, that immortal mystic
cadenza—to frighten a soul, as shivering with time, this new communication: as
secrets told, (it isn’t new), as more an old friend; where sung her life, born
to warm waters, bathing in mortar—that inner stardust, a child on angel dust, a
soul awakens suddenly; as shod after silence, or sheered after solace, while
severed apart smitten; that casual storm, a rasp but her mind, to shift with
reasons—while found his life, but a coffin to a friend, but a teardrop to a
ballad: if but her life, a wound to justice, emitting a swamp of mayflies; as
read his soul, as a pirate’s life, at love those sailing songs.
