Made
holy our terrors, shifting at tornadoes, afflux a sequence of demons—as
consequential, that treasure of weblocks, a bit forbidden to love; that frantic
kiss, afloat by limbo, infused by grandma’s essence: this onyx of souls,
associated by madness, our cache a box of Fruit Loops.
I’ve
dined our exorcism, enlightened but dead, aware acutely that discernment: those
creaky shadows; that voice near necks; this miracle by faces our minds.
It
was early our moon, a fist filled with tortures, a room speaking in
tongues—this flux as thunder, alighted his heart, trekking this spacial
darkness. Our sun was dying, a flurry of edification, while a psych read
Hume—that vague discussion, gripping for concrete, as one sworn against
abstracts. Our souls morphed, to awaken, screaming, gripping for concrete: that
feather of heartbeats, aloft a ventriloquist, falling into gymnasiums—that
revving engine, as more those brains, creeping as we fell—at tears for
distance, that medieval mystic, returning his mirrors—to see us dying, as
resurrected falcons, this desert but a forty year trail.
At
journey those flights—forever those minds, as lethal that witnessed ghost would
breathe—as character souls, bleeding his eyes, as one crooked through righteous
living.
I’ve
felt a faucet—those burgundy eyes, to have dreamt that un-sober man—while
seeping into drains, accused of uncaring, this knot tearing his guts—if but to
breathe, this crush of fools, a bit to haste but forfeiting—this courage of
souls, filtered by madness, our gravid mindprints.
There
came a dream, as living our lives, to meet by chance such rudeness; as warning
his soul, while guiding our futures, this push as pulling our adventures.
I’m
bred to care, while aloof to fawning, to keep at bay those seamless charms: if
but his mind, to escape this force, our witness to an intricate dynamic: our
substance to brains; our brains to mingle; that life by frequencies: as
sky-fire, or holy water, or bathing in seaquakes.
