Those
parachute eyes, as cavalier skies, such pride that revving kettle—which died to
witness, our used forgiveness, another’s jewels—wherewith, his life, musing
blues, confused in parts—ambivalent gestures, as detached seduction, our
junction as bare waterfalls—to clash by essence, laughing while screaming, our
walls depicting silence; therewith, our daily abuses, our drums as music, this
lose feeling restrained: that casual fool, at purpose a fortnight, galloping
through forests islands—this misfit’d illusion, as deployed reality, its base
centered in twilights—those burgundy emotions, as turquoise helium, as rapture
born of insanity: such sweaty palms, seated at awnings, about cloves musing
introjects—as reciting cadence, our alarms at seven minutes, this relentless
ambition: that city stomach, that country vomit, our nerves gasping our
names. We eject mercy, such freezing
calamity, our mirrors assassinating confidence: that awkward glance, cemented
in awkward speeches, to live that second dying by climax—this touch by brains,
as ousting mediocrity, while inducing a session by sadness—this core fiddling,
as finding our company, at hectic churns aborting our sanity. It flutes forever, as adjusted forever, a
man at solace nibbling peace—that slender nightmare, as gracile celestials,
this mixture this contradiction—as broken that arc, at purpose our workers, our
generators on repeat—at which, becomes life, this terrible elation, as accused
by reflections: that faraway minx; those channeled sensations; this wrestling
energies awakened—by terrors at love, while lagoons stir, to find through mud a
glint of pure springs: that cryptic cadence, while injected his heart, this
appreciative pouch; where Love ballets, eyes immersed in sunshine, too far to
reach—this addled soul, at currents with traumas, painted for falling to rise
at unawares—those rapturous cries, as sudden to awaken, his palms moist in
rituals. We music life, despite our
radio stations, alarmed by frequencies; this ace by silence, this immortal
violence, our vehemence seeping into our auras—that saffron moon; those beige
stars; our blackened paradise—where sadness is gentle, this coming to terms, at
steep realizations as laughter becomes prevalent—this mischief person, rooted
in meditations—so steep as to touch a beating vibration—to know his cadence, as
essence awakens, to cry his fever—with joys to lights, as light to fires, this
thunder at mindcaves.
[Hi
Love—our acacia cries, while pierced by mirrors, as livid as unspoken
resentment; while loved for broken, that arcade smile, those shades by brown
cadence—this voice of essence, as lived our remembrance, to culture with time
our divine catapults: if but to breathe, at hectic churns, this life filled
with tugs—as yanking our souls, so much so soon, each dread by testimonies; this inner sermon, this candent preacher, our
cries averted by reality; while torn a mayfly, steeped in marsh, to immerge an
angelic vessel: those green blades, that lime season, our auburn leaves: our
essence watching, as to feel such sparks, as resonance with an intense
presence—this spectrum in self, as attuned to silence, to think as thought
generating chi: this infant nursing; this mother at woes; this space in
kindness elated with breastfeeding.
It comes with pains, this pollinated existence, at points one-to one
with metaphysics. It comes with science, this complicated existence, at points
one-to one with epistemology. It comes with hearts, this compacted existence,
at points one-to-one with pragmatism; this mystic endeavor, as losing his
terms, at once, to realize, It is but
existence—this flying current, as aloof to lies, while wrestling
misconceptions: our cryptic minds, embedded in brains, while far too equipped
to reason through nuances: this space of cries, our waves to seas, our dolphins
beating our cadence—as sought to live, those multiple eyes, running for fleeing
into magnificence…where turtles pause, as speeding to feel, our rabbits steadily
racing too fast].
