Remember By Shadows

By detriments, this muse of ecstasy, our screaming catastrophes; as lived by heartness, to stumble by Christ, our titles losing inheritance: that scar too close, as embedded in dreams, to catch by hurt that inner vacuum; where parents die, as enlove by graces, peering at this ecstatic mirror; insofar, we cry, while steeped in prayer—to dungeons by arts that scream; where mother cautions, as father’s livid, that curse our hearts afloat that maze. It comes to us, that tangle of syllables, to hold, pause, and release: if but to perish, this jewel of spirit, while too insecure to love affections; that myth with lights, as torn an allegory, by chase too winded to continue; as seated astride, this push as pulled, while at fractions to explode. We die this vex, as tested to persevere, where Love has forfeited those guts; as back to life, this somber inheritance, while feeling some sort of fire; that patient death, while feeding an infant, as stressed that fever for ecstasy; while such for pleasure, to have that shoji, where death escaped its cocoon: that armoire dungeon; that bleeding cadenza; that opera too evolved as tragic—to censor our tales, seated by awnings, a tare pinched by contagion; as ran his mind, attempting to fathom, while something churns with misery: that far glance, as chanced to approach, where one is offended by strangers; that touch we felt, as to lose that feeling, while to re-conjure that affection; this move to perish, as loved for silence, while cagey and dead a local theologian. It wasn’t but gentle, as alive by deaths, to reappear but merely a man; while torn to spirit, to emerge as psychotic, while never that crucial inventory; to cut through passions, as it must reign truth, insomuch, this need to feel superior; those base things, as approved by holiness, this soul aflame by Spirit: if but to live, as caged his rights, where authorities fell by love; that attic ache, as brains to flourish, while told those avenues are blurry: our silent daughter, as a vocal ventriloquist, to attempt by flights that infant bridge: that trenchant memory; those wings at terrors; that presence forming in his gut; as lived a soul, to inform a queen, while she uttered this tension for remaining human. It could to die, or must to live, to feel by phallus this welkin museum; where aches cherish, this immortal tantrum, as fevered that arc by expansion; that deep ether, that majestic pain, our tears by buoyancy that pool; to live her life, as lived his life, those years breeding friendship.