We
city through woes, as cried to happiness, while bewitching our citizenship:
that tarot angst, as wrenching his guts, fevered for flying this communication:
at steep communion, to life but doves, at love this immortal atmosphere. I know for wonder; I power through aches; I fall for rising amazed by beauty: this
wretched mess, as confused our swans, where life studies by repeats; to feel
tragedy, as calm a freshet, by purpose to city through humans: this mortal
pain, our spears to souls, this moody adjustment: to mimic innocence, while
treading lava, insofar, our overseer's passions.
I laughed in anguish; I
clutched for ribs; I awoke at
shivers: this tall tale, counting our legacies, to scent through waves this
whale’s calamities: those graves bleeding; those bones speaking; our sinews
languishing through heart-catchers. We
feel for prides, this inner activity, at microcode(s)—to languor while
spinning, as sinning while grinning, until our webs are confronted: this mystic
apple, or cagey apricot, by centuries to ruin our cultures—this wealth of
passions, that last freedom-light, our cloves dipped in honey—as curved his soul, this Spiritual Lamborghini,
sifting through human behaviors—to float with time, as seething our journey,
while cavalier concerning said behavior; but life to passions, to live while
cities crumble, instead of vying steeped in inertia: that painful music, as
wishing his death, where unsaid affections are dying for closure. [I sense a
feeling, this inner canyon, our volcanoes simmering with satisfaction: that
particular cry, as signaling communion, where unsaid persons ignite particular
frequencies: this theologian, a tare to laughing, while convicted that last
experience—as sleeping his cries, while preaching nonchalance, where said
theologian dies in fractions; herewith, to city through lives, as abandoned to
freedoms, at wars concerning aged religiosity: that inner turmoil; this flight
through centuries; our histories written to conquer tales—but more to love,
this treasure by capture, to come to rivers pleading to bathe; as cursed with
bliss, or bliss through curses, at terrors this upcoming battle: that wheel
spinning; that prophet agitated; our mystic women reciting Exercises: as but a dream, affected by therapy, a bit behind her
compass—where love is gracious, as love would live, our moons craving for
indemnity—that vigil eye, as steeped in treacheries, where function becomes to
interrogate God: this tale of souls, while trekking emotions, cut to slanted a
sudden gesture; indeed, for love, as terrible our cries, to forward through
love—this man of years, our poets to legislation, our eyes by planks thanking
Yahweh]. {I’ll remember life by remembering us by memories this floating sensation—as
destined to live, while returning often, at cadence clawed for purified—this
immortal swan, our daughter time-for-again, while choosing through that second
of completion—this death to souls, as livid a curse, while at base considering
love; or more that life, as abandoned to tremendous,
this fiddle for riddles a tare electrified; as lives our chants, this
feeling through waves, to grave with purpose our last enchantment; to love with
courage, as voiced with exhilaration, our pride to kingdoms}.
