Crimson River Cheer

I see us thrumming, as intricate cobwebs, or creative scars: those trenchant eyes, those muddy knees, our shearers trekking swamps: if but fractions, angered by love, snatched and tugged trespassing our brains: [this monster, at psychical dialogues, fueled by transgression].  I see us thrumming, our masks so palpable, our suitcase encased leviathans: that tender blue jay, that African red-hare, as afar so close undergoing exorcisms—to rupture deserts, alone, as aside a fountain, to claim this seasoned portion: our pertly lives; our petit infractions; this feeling as mental titanium: if but a fox, I’ll session by holes, this purpose as simple our favored estate: if but as humans, I’ll chase infinity, thriving accursed for breathing: or life as holy, this excruciating battle, our countenances set aglow.  (You cater banquets, and attend frustrations, laughing in agony—as neurotransmitters, while sparked a smile, where feelings contradict thoughts)—this steep disjunction, this miracle manifestation, this trickle as called through winds: that fire reaching, our hearts revved, this ferret at his wrists—although, a dream, those eye-sickle organs, those saxophone palms—to cringe, as clutching guts, thrust into devotion: our banjo hearts, at terrors fleeing wrongdoing, as witnesses that evil flourishes: those agonizing morals, as embedded as brow-scope, our telephones mixing wires: if but for war, than ablaze our trombone, but if love is crucial, [aflame our socio-essence]: that gait, that homely refusal, this tear at reaching for womanhood; as but a scar, or more a fortress, to have for hiding such power—that intimidating nun; this prowess for mutilations; to ruin a year at mere a glance: if but was sung, those harmonica eyes, that trumpet spin—to see for shadows, this man at tails, flipping for flying a frenzy at studies.  I’ve said little, searching for finding, a bit alone that central illusion—as courage-breads, nibbling sweet pecans, dipping for radiance this coffee plant; indeed, Love, this culture at game-play, angered that it rarely flourishes, while demonizing chastity: or essence bent, carving a jelly-tree, afflux a habit leering into mirrors: that shifting gaze, that inner leap, those hours to studying insanity—to come to surface, a calm treasure, where chambers reach for likeness…that grape in patches, that dainty militia, that star-apple sitting at attention—as, nevertheless, frazzled for fleeing, to come at conditions, where it feels good to live absence: our rumberry pies, our rubbery clouds, our cranberry skies: if but a swan, than sing your symphony, as father sips a dragonberry: if but a moon, than glisten upon earth, peeking for pulling potentialities…those walnut goals, seething for wrestling, that inner ape a tear grueling—as, notwithstanding, these turns of affairs, at length to realize authenticities: those glaring thoughts, as told for pumpkins, as, otherwise, that soul so close a drum-beat; but life is warfare, this culturing of swans, sipping a pinkpigeon.  We’re getting closer, as infused by fusions, living our stations: that fair religiosity, as anchors would sing, while adult-life is spent tangling with neuroses: our pineberry shame, thrust into academia, or thrust into psychiatry—to feel at plateaus, this reaming sensation, as feeling guilty that humans generate such magnificence; but this is life, as steeped in essence, to remember this feeling as Yahweh’s churn: at Jamaican rum, laughing with friendship, nibbling at existence: this inner legacy, as a fortress at battle, possessed by mauve shrubberies—those purple membranes, or orchid eyes, yanking for pulling a dream she fashioned: that secret screaming, those studies proving fortune, this life so cultic a passion—as seeking Zion, this stronghold fortress, while reaping science: to study as sought, while never for closure, where unsaid events were struck through deities; as never for asking, as ever for searching, this man becomes an inner donkey; so more to speaking, as informed in passing, our mental cerise clocks—as beaming envy, while purposed songbirds, at course voiced in ceilings.