It’s found in us, this unmentioned force, our
para-psychologies.
It rewinds us, adrift a fire-lake, rafting
through canyons: this essence of dreams, as penchant liveliness, unaddressed,
while conversing intimately—this cringing teddy-bear, those blank expressions, our
miracles pausing deliveries: that type of feeling, treasured unsteadily,
fleeing as returning to mirrors: this falling down-light, aglow, moreover, with
sorrow: while tyranny rules, this sector of terrors, our daily graduations. It was music-amore, this timbal amore, this
frenzy-amore—as reaching listlessly, or moody this fierceness, while dying
casually: that mental gorilla, that princess bride, as, nevertheless, that
acrobatic apparatus—where sights are ruthless, as wants are excruciating, to have for capture a second losing its
seasoning: that flippant wind, by thoughts to silence, so infused as mere
ecstasy: this wave of passions, this drenching sensation, our palms
punctured. It’s found in us, this unmentioned force, our para-psychologies: as rapid calmness, morphing by spasms, our
bodies responding where minds shutdown.
This drumming cadence, electric by rites, seated in solace but
terrified: this realist-dream, as occasioned affairs, our rhinestones designed
for meditation. By legacy, Light—by
visions stippled, as men wrestle—where essence splits, this torn disease, as
refusing to iterate its power: this fragmented headache, this barrel of
mirrors, our fragmented depictions; where life is sky-scraped, as nevermore
this gated, listening to pure silence. While debated a scar, or sheer majesty, we
relinquish reason: this fair
enchantress, aflame through mire, but rinsed as pure sorrow: our pruned
feelings, despite our leaning towers, too at ease with such by piracy. It ravishes screams, to echo fears; this
system fed by our wits—as lavish a star, carried with currency, unraveling
into chains—those levels bleeding, our
souls oozing, this wealth, that lose—inverted victories.
Day
II
Our infernos, as adrift through spaces, at
flux with pash: (such poison nectar; such Oedipus cadence; this Argus-eyed
soul): our inner Calypso; this genealogical Cleopatra; such fire pleading,
Monroe. It was time our fails—racing for
juggling, our allergies accosted by ragweed—this feral snail-pace, where danger
appeals, such by tyranny sitting stillness; that achy mind-field, those
succulent lips, this terror to pardon exclusivities…where love passions, as gray currents, this eager
infatuation: to know by mother, this addict’s
fury, while chasing this replica. It
fell sky-anger, as clouded sky-tortures, where Love evaluated personas—that
inner jigsaw, that jutted proclivity, while deadly that tool-chest: our
dilatations, purposed a perfect resilience, this trickle of nightmares: that
bold, seductive aura, as cultivated through hells, while resistant enough to
culture womanhood: this bleeding star-cast, as furious fireworks, our firebrand
simmering by sobriety: our mental placemats, by curious daybreaks, our breaths
as liquid bouquets…where matrix whispers, our radix to caves, our weaknesses
screaming. [While grievous this storm,
we admire feelings, our beings partially
hebetated; our dreams by Ross, our prayers by Marvin, our ambitions by
Green—insomuch, our reckless souls, our children as protégées, this hiding
taken place our homes…to sense confusion, our emotions entangled, our rapture
pleading its texture—this voice of waves, carried by intervals, debating our
nuances: that kitschy irritation, while engrossed in projections, wanting by
deaths this shiksa…our nefarious battle, to extract devotions, whereas, our
souls venture Alcatraz: this prison of passions,
our anchors dug free, at liberties our flying phoenix].
