Our
sparrows fly, at tears by visions, such treacherous beauty—as, thereupon, our
writhing souls, a trek adjusted by storms: that net of marbles; that inner
chessboard; our moments with something fleeting; to die a smidgen, as to live a
smidgen, while resistance becomes explosive: such regulation, assisting our
sacred persons, at base an insidious cello; (but this is burgundy, our bleeding
moons, our sun a treasure unraveled; to hold infinity, those acrid eyes, our
rubbing for moisture; insofar, a nightmare, to laugh with closed caricatures,
albeit, that tinge of sorrow; to know our wails, affected with intimacy, to
relish those sighted joys). It becomes enough, where thoughts settle for
closure, a method agitated by canvases: that purple kite; that frozen kettle;
our lives embedded in diamonds; as gods and goddesses, fevered through
mindcaves, a slave of turquoise skies: those mystics watching; that Sufi
grieving; while living our scholarships: that aching ripple, a rivulet to
souls, such gore and carnage; as, therewith, this sandal bleeding, our palms
with gloves. There shall be life, our pastrami chili cheese fries, in such to
live our museums; whereby, we nurture, this mutual course, our triangles
speaking of glory: our wellic souls, greeted as grandparents, so far those
trenches; as awakened fully, a bit inexplicable, a shore inexorable; to paint
the unseen, our minds with gods, those trickles fleeing through pianos; as
grievous lights, to harness serenity, at oceans this motion of silence: to
chant closely; our daughters to feelings; our siblings to majesty: as examined
hearts, accursed with blessings, at love for such contradiction; to see at
minds, this slant of justice, our forces as recurrent: our preschool memories,
if life is gentle, reaching through nurseries; while pushing checkers, a king
but a symbol, that competitive nature: such terrible music; such esoteric
nuance; such richness that soul reading: if but for flights, our bluebird arcs,
our islands paved by intelligence: as regulated hearts, while scaffolding
justice, our skills to brains floating through valleys; else, to perish, or
more to live, as one a bit lost with arrogance: it comes to souls, this itching
affliction, at tears nigh a stumbling-block: wherewith, is violence, this inner
monster, while gnawing at our compass; but at to joys, agaze by our Getty
souls, infused as metropolitans: that soft grandeur, as gaining courage, to
muse as giants: this effective force, as blessed a chameleon, as outwitted with
time: that vague sentence, to keep us alert, while complaisance breeds deaths:
our moving plates, our earth as pillars, those jasper leaves as signs. (I end,
short to breathing, ecstatic as seeing; this world of temperaments, this vest
of feelings, this swan as adored). To freedoms, Love!
