We
travel lights; cleat’d in dissatisfaction, braided in turmoil: such Asian fury,
reveling color, at torments to confess—this wicked passion, as laughing with
shame, that grackle as peering at motion: such casual misfits; such annual
purging; with angst suggesting longevity—that rabid cry, as strobe’s pain, this
hour to deaths our unbelief. It spoke
silence, as to figure symbols, while adjusted to brilliance: this lightfast
resilience, as striking through nerves, while feeling unattractive…this blatant
error, where crime becomes petals, while petals become misery…to chime with
fire, as deathly distraught, at cadence flushing pills; to repurchase life,
while threaded in chaos, where Naïve appears as fickle—or failing by arts, this
immortal tear, deep by trance staring at this celebrity. It shall to pass, this reality, abrasive,
where a mystic ruined ambition: that cry to sights; that liquid presence; or
such by fire to flush but once: at treasures, Love…such wincing betrayal…such
profound anguish—to render war, occasioned to perish, at castles laughing by
guillotine: that cauldron bumbling; that catapult flickering; this aqua-blue
flame; hereto, this gentle attraction, as years bundle injustice, where
feelings became exploited—if but to love, where love was failing, this curious
adventure becoming our blackdamp; hitherto, this brave conveyance, sectioned
for failing, while steeped in Colossians—as by us, for us, while through us; this
vicious lantern, peering at such beauty, our Asians fraught by creativity: this
inner cygnet, as infused chaos, while too proud by collapses. We’ve explained nothing racing for crawling appearing in visions: this soft enchant, as
appalled emotion, agaze’d by Aiko: that fabulous journey, as tugged asunder,
where reality dictates our illusions: that fine texture, where dreams are
shattered, to alight a brilliant dragon: as leviathan furies, where obsession
curries, this portal in seconds but unaware: that tragic lose; those severed
wings, that cursed awning—where Love has died, while love lives to flourish,
where blue-violets purge our inner wells—this perfect aura, pigeon’d as
mourning converse, while abandoned to survival tactics—if but distraction, or
ablaze’d as firebrand, to whisper, I need
us: as furious savages, this stranger our beds, at sacrifices to avoid
self-depreciation—as madness blossoms, this vile instinct, to curse by volumes
extinguishing our Albatross: that edgy insight, those foreign feelings, this
want for newness to remain insatiable.
We come to tyranny, afflux our Beyoncè’s, where one engulfed by beauty
can remain so loyal: this calls to freedom, our daughters at pyramids, those
staircases afloat this mental sanctum—as, thitherto, this hankering for
recruitments, if but those silent webs, to have for adventure searching for
exists—as needed deeply, that wispy performance, if but to contain this whisky
elation: those tyrannical hats, those gowns with splits, this meth for dying as
inwards scream; as, too, this silent presence, while gnawing our lips, as,
moreover, our souls are calculating endeavors—that sultry resentment, for
performance refuses to die, while two outgrow embedded footlights. It lives our brains, this need for
acceptance, to come to life this flower but moments: our deciduous minefields;
this inner acme; this reflex courting for calling through dreams: that welkin
attraction, as furious by passion, to come to battle fleeing our captures: such
marvelous tyranny, necked in blood-suckling, our claws tearing through flesh—as
beauty’s beast, this gray monster, if but for living pulled by elation: that
cultic person, so gorgeous a scream, to pass through passions, at panic our
dementia…indeed…to disguise by dragon-swords…at terrible friction to gaze upon
glory: such femininity, fraught with ruthless conflictions, as sewn into synaptic
membranes: this featured tragedy, as colliding with delusions, this person so
perfect they fail to consume: if but that moment, as seconds to perish, at
terrors to exhaust this fleeing attraction; where angst attracts, while love is
mortal, to die fleeing ontic mirrors.
