Symbols Encase Existence

I see riches, that outer camouflage, while disguised by treasures—this beige Fleetwood, those Porsche membranes, our Ferrari engines—as metaphorical pains, at tension with Bentleys, afforded a billion dollar Cross; to ache his soul, or awaken in sweat, pieced by ghetto realities—to surf his life, a million dollar iron, if but to appeal to wrinkles—that faraway dream, leering at Fantasia, a soul memorized in fantasies—those deep delusions, as to outlive sorrow, at cadence a soul prior to acceptance—that exceptional fever, those exceptional women, as to birth a minute through sacrifice. We tinted Chryslers, aired out in cloves, a bar but occasions so wild—to pause at names, this Zenist Priest, as lives our contradiction.     I’m localized, becoming his soul, this inverted person: that river glisten; that afterglow finish; our toes to legs trekking our Savannahs: this musical charm, as lives our mystics, this group of yogis admitted shamans; but life to riches, this flamboyant essence, staring at human souls—to carve through poverty, as intimate with sludge, while grafted through porcelain imagery: that antique bracelet; that pinky toe ring; that thousand dollar steak—as blacktie ingested, those alligator hats, to infuse that young warrior; but art to visions, that meek conversation, our culturalized inventions—to palm an infant, as to bless Ka, this portal illusion through Ba—as lived her life, abbreviated through traumas, at brooks speaking deeply—this slant he owns, while afforded one curse, this intricacy seeping into crevices—where songs are sessions, this golden guitar, this trillion dollar organ—to cut her mind, nibbling baguettes, while ingesting reasons to invest—in more than life, this strength to wars, accustomed to winning through losing; that vicious cycle, by love a vicious reality, to exclaim such beauty through travesty—our Dooney & Bourke bags, our leather Coach jackets, that Chanel intoxication—as racing through measures, a whiff of Eternity, a bout with Obsession: if but to fly, at tender concerns, this elaborate ritual by swans—to thump through oceans, as mighty as swords, to thresh asunder—this waking destiny, our tiring successions, this ache that calls for silence.     I envision, Love     this warrior creature     too delicate for reality; where souls asses majesty     while hearts seep into self     this space by resilience: if but to Love, this feminine soldier, this trudging through marsh—those lands of whispers, as cultured our nightmares, as adored our Paradise; this moment to reason, as lives our souls, while others strain a bit by curse—this livid song     our interaction     our autistic jitters: if hearts seize     this space in souls     to liquidate this flannel of mysticism—if hearts die     as born through rapture     to exist as entities—where purple parades by souls     as burgundy whelms our moons     if but this second as reoccurring; indeed, our minds, flurrying through temperaments, alive in cadence—this inner ache, as soaring through channels, to conjure another person’s ghosts—this secret to life, as contagious feelings, while purposed to defend our castles—this steep defensive, where resistance becomes hellish, while streaming sutures a segment of wounds…this ark of riches, our doves to return, as fervent otherwise...while seeking land, a bit evasive, this symbol of minds.