How
to get there, floating through rooms, accustomed to rooms: this mental box;
that smothered feeling; that instinct but defensive; (to avoid life, a game of
blocks, twisted for colors as one force): those tragic eyes; that inner
funeral; that decoration; (as father’s skin, mother's brow, this wave of
independence). I raked a wound, tugging its scab, bleeding into our future:
that intricate swan; that defiant love; our reason
to perish by sky-drops; (this inner vest, that seashore of thoughts, that
welkin disposition). I utter differences; this legend of time; as to remember
our nature. It comes by journey, as utilized souls, peering at human mysteries;
to vanish with pride, upon that inner train, this process of textures; as
living forever, a dream to a portrait, a vessel but our lives: (plucking
bluegrass; palming pomegranates; as more to nurture an inner gift): that ship
as waiting; that cinema as emerging; those wounds as dancing. It becomes an
art, to trot by telepathy, while others worry of this gesture—those shadows
that mimic, at gestures so file, while peering into secrets: (this strict
leisure, as becoming a business, while baptizing smothered emotions—to see that
face, filled with mercy, as accused of becoming aloof): to sing by patience, to
diagnose an ache, to become by strength a soul. We speak of love, as oh to
utter for love, while so removed from actual love: this government by actions;
this type of polity; this music made popular through private intensions;—as
more to truths, we have for interests, this method as means to an end—as dying
in parts, where ships are sailing, to turnaround through telepathy—that
channeled art, requiring concentration, (but waves of a swan); as, too, a
sister, floating for flying, a member of our conventicle(s): that cherished
heartbeat; that reluctant chastisement; that fury for solidarity; to chant by
paradox, to stream as scientists, to review a claim by evidence: that
locomotive; that splendor by tears; that recording of heart-symbols. I died to
see it—flushed with agonies, to have misrepresented life—this incumbent
journey, your words in print, to become a soulquake—or even a voiceprint,
palming ashes, reading into legends: to conjure a feeling, to feel a feature,
to compose by arts that fire: our intricate fevers, as confused by processes,
to have earned this inner aching. I adore our notes, as defying gravity, a pail
of peaches floating upwards: this song he sung; while finding favors; pointing
at inward sacrifices. It must be life, as to have lived this life, as churns a
product of life; (to have as was, this art that is, while flitting into a
flowered future): that casual observance, as shifted our hearts, this budlike
conviction: as souls galore, as a vehicle of lights, perusing Deuteronomy 6.
