We
adore by images, so close to agony, as melding deep our river—that sea-chime,
those melodramatics, our theatre whining—if but to winds, as grinned a
squirrel, our nights seated in another’s personality—this test of crimes, while
steeped in probability, to haul a shifty soul. It was lights by love, this
purple sun-fire, our phoenix divorcing our funerals—as cried by oceans, at
sails for grandeur, alive a cryptic feature—where passions flame, a magpie as
symbol, our hearts but to frolic as ferrets: our cultic brains, so enlove with
life, as ever so distant from life—this musical trombone, our flitting sax,
this case at souls filled by sulfur; to love eternal, where eyes set to droop,
our Smurf-perfect insights—or tears as Care Bears, our enriched emotions, but a
cartoon trekking mental tracks; to die by feelings, as living by cadence, a
thread achy with enchantment: those liquid thoughts; that urbane elocution;
those rivets encircling our heart-pressure—as torn a vandal, that account of
bishops, threshed by mystic rivalries—those testy seaquakes, that wind from
afar, this pleasure frosting our air-quarters.
Those
shores to antics, our sea-geese as signs, flickering ranch-like popcorn—where
turquoise eyes wail, while encased in jails, our dialogues becoming deciduous
fires—as winks a dolphin, our tales by beauty, a bit frustrated to master
existence: that acorn temperament; that seagull wisdom; those seconds to
considering those fleeting ships; as purposed his life, those born to passions,
where prose becomes occupation—as ever to arts, this mongoose disguise,
striking while ingesting venom: our museum brains, filtered through burgundy
minds, at moons bleeding our red rivers—this again to die, while bled through
gestures, to arrive pleading for sanctions.
