Allure: Life is a Miracle

We watch stressors, embedded plural genetics, as features scatter normality: this fragile force, at collapses by twenty, if but two years prior—to speak such language, at anguish laughing, while privy an underground mentality: this Celtic Cross, those Danish poems, this field running into art-brains; where mother dances, while swans admire, such strengths this tiny miracle.  I’ve shattered thrice, those horrid episodes, those flimsy bar-caves—as built bleeding, punctured in Tijuana, at memories sipping Tequila—this vest rifting, at rafts soaring, this kayak extravaganza—that Dior culture, so appealing a dream, as watching that thread for others.  It caved his mind, those inner funerals, partaking of grandmother’s ashes—to rival messages, seated at a settee, our closets bursting with vengeance: that psych’s evaluation, that rabid sensation, this file at tyranny describing analyses: if but to franchises, this welkin enterprise, our hearts at rivers pleading our imaginations: that timid aggression, those rigid smoothies, our treasuries suffering social inadequacies: to courage for deaths, this vacancy screaming, at terrors to arrive at that chased adventure: those purple eyes, those jaguar paws, that ape’s glare; indeed, to thoughts, this vessel so enchanted, by arm’s-reach at chorus to gunfire.  I met with pash, as ahead by seems, while at glory riveting his brains: that membrane lioness, this wretched division, at tears climbing by ranks: this Gucci intellect, as Cartier fevers, at sudden a whiff of acceptance: our burgundy eyes, that meal of sardines, our noodles with Red Rooster; as trying to escape, this bar of frustrations, to meet with kindness a young minx: that sylphic sage, as alarmed studying Zen, to happen upon a manic countenance: our strange island, this rhinestone aggravation, our gems as thoughts afloat a cathedral; insomuch, to flourish, as laughing by suspicion, those dreams by koans: if but to arise, where life is without efforts, this ability to hold attentions a solid hour; before to perish, as losing zeal, as cagey an ache to ask for survival.  It was good that life, as a man fully dysfunctional, our armoires protecting shallow egos—this velvet dress, those tinkering rings, that partial bra—as but to live, a series of obsessions, fiddling pleasure as culture our psychoses: this steep penetration, as to witness cries, this feeling but a second in minds; that Buccellati succession, that fragile powerful brain, those Vhernier pieces of personality—as cut through time, our billionaire screams, this face so precious as touched with malice—to thrust a spear, those million dollar boots, this space in others reaping Messika.  I’m soon to deaths, churned as aggravated, sensing with time this luminous sphere: our Lagos logos, as terrified streams, to enter a trillion dollar museum—our wild suade, this assuaging force, at rabid insanity concerning monopoly: that outer spotlight, as every magazine, to have for fairytales this achy glamour.  I’m soon to life, this woman in suits, those heels piercing by sheer fire: that violet scarf, those dahlia eyes, our daughters jotting down sensations—as lived afar, to come so close, this acacia superstar—if but to breathe, this inhalation, as lungs empty science—our beanbag moments, sipping for living, this minor fender-bender; as partial to passions, enlove but driven, as reaching for laughing a shattered wine glass: those mahogany dreams, our cabinets bleeding, those seconds at showers—to have for purpose, this lot of vexations, reading a sestina—those long bangs, as shoulders to skies, while adrift our human condition…if but a sentence, to ache a heart, while pleading adventures…if but a scream, to induce a rocket, our para-existence; insomuch, this feyic beauty, this wellic brain-drum, as kettles resound for teas.  We live as outliers, while begotten a miracle, a bit too soldier our cultures: our Ralph Lauren, our Versace dreams, our Jewish inheritance—to focus silence, enough to reach, at terrible friction speaking algebra: our tragic vices, as vying for normality, to find in love an accepting ark: those arts colliding, our graphs blurring, our women by deaths as animal magnetism.