I
sensed melancholia, as potential to cringe, at variance to display credence—this
mystical magic, as acclaimed our souls, by cultures with integrated habits;
this welkin force, as coursed through cries, such by deaths screaming our
sentence—this edgy dungeon, our sweat to music, seated at luxurious
restaurants: those four inch steaks, our hankering for fries, this platter or octopus—seeping into sun-bliss, those dolor eyes, sprinkled by hazel
trimmings—such gentle banter, leading where devils cry, this nine month
excursion. I told Jesus, this second’s promise, while becoming sheer
chivalry—if but to relate, as skated our screams, infused for dying awake to
pangs: those tender seeping(s), as tender welts, our claws at passions seldom
received: to purchase behavior, as sutured woes, our mammon but human
reactions. It could to live, this glorious heartsore, as appeased through
atypical treacheries—to gun his life, approached this grim-reaper, our hoods
tugged down revealing our skeletons: those dungeon eyes, as engulfing timidity,
at entrance that lock as keys are flung to seas: if but to taste, as but to
enter, while aloof to this feeling called, love—we’d die evermore, while too
tired to maintain, this cavalier momentum—as never so casual, this battle upon
high grounds, where war is sweeter than complaisance. I sensed sorrow, as born
to punish, where said sorrow derives from misconceptions: this sipping of
clarities; this insidious Poseidon; our childhood Medusas—those rabid snakes,
that cagey approach, this lyric ringing at 3a.m.; at serotonin his nature, at
motivation his zeal, at terrible highs those thoughts of love—where art is
feeling, while emotion is wingspan, this zest for increasing life’s value—if
but to perish, at love this ideal, where philosophers struggle: those gracious
arcs; those rancorous eyes; that killing to destroy an unstable atmosphere; as
torn sideways, infused by crookedness, to kiss for falling into mirages—that
infant crying; that terrorized vestibule; this walking while reading
graffiti—as said for nothing, where mother would ache, this failure to realize
those joys are her essence; indeed, for tortures, while asked to sin, but a
moment in thought where she never requested—this pleat in fools, as lives our
treasures, if but to cherish what others take for granted: those lavish scars;
that silken complexion; this remaining as humans are divine: our tender
tragedy; our humanistic(s); our reason assailing epistemologies—if but to
gather, at picnic dreams, peering at Buddhists: that frantic argument; those
terrible windows; this peace afforded one that submits: if but to silence,
where snails spew wisdom, as our rabbit instincts spell disaster: this fatal
secret, as a cygnet's friend, while all for Satan our inner compass; to love for
mercy, as kindled a storm, as remembered as eyes spring shores—those blue
feelings, as inched into our dynamic, to curse with voice this immortal shame.
I love for love, this love for winning, while equipped fairly to match a
Wiccans wits: those tremendous shoots, as chimneys vanish, this poet to enter a
theologian’s composure. I’ve said little, for needing perfection, this curse
forced into existence—as dying often, while losing humanity, to reach for
falling into jealousies: that immortal hour, as flowered our surface, while
needing one to believe; this cryptic skull, as pure a skeleton, to immortalize
a dying frenzy: this whispering gravity, as pulling for exits, to ruin this
cultic endeavor: that excellent tug, while resisting magnets, to cry our
hermetic enchantress: that music bleeding; our tears clawing; this method in
self as far to escapish—where it would be glory, to have but essence, if two
would fly unencumbered: this wincing glory; this pure seduction; our selves
bleeding flame—where honors are prevalent; as stars are words; where culinary
becomes affections—this space in hearts, to feel such souls, as to realize we
rarely share: if but to passions, as laughs our inhibitions, seething for
cringing—this forum love, as adored a scar, to cleave for life as never
infractions: that mutual cadence, to sense this typical alliance, while
remaining atypical.
