…such as life, our genealogies, our
shoebill amygdalas:—this riveting thought, as perished its claim, afforded our
chaotic minds:—this compass-sensory, as afflictive by moments, to detonate with
precision:—our cyan joys, absconding by hearts, effected by mere a
countenance. We duel this light,
braiding our tusks, a thimble to our passions: this jasmine vista, those eyes
peering through mud, our knees to sickles digging frantically; where, notwithstanding,
those mandolin bones, we churn by emptiness: our rifted tissues, as karnac with
loss, to sudden upon apostolic eyes—or disappearance, our puce wines, whining
through silence—as vulnerability, to show our deaths, while seized by life:
this wicked dream, so close but vinegar, or aroused giving time-capsule joys:
this skiing urge, our helium voices, those paragliding sights—as pushed to
live, those mental bookcases, this chase through valley-caves: our mystic
daughters; our passionate mothers; such by Tibetan graces. (It was good to feel, albeit, deluded: this
soul stands indebted. It was fear to
love, as coming unraveled, leering at landscape eyes:—our tender outbursts, as
seasoned falderal, or magic upwelling affectation:—this kind passion, as livid
those hearts, accustomed to sand-river brains:—that old armchair, aside a
million dollar account, beside a billion dollar woman…this rare respect, as
given to graces, while terrible souls flourish; but less to rain, as eclectic
this fusion, falling through exiled eyes:—our seventy years, or our Jubilees,
where debt becomes a friend’s eraser: that casual pain, as feeling joy, to
abbreviate our melancholia)…by latent emotion, sinking for treasures, our
pearly diving gear…as love would breathe, that silent dragoness—those gourmet
grasshoppers. Our music with life, by
nomadic souls, pierced by rhino affections: that day in time, as seconds rage
glory, to scream, Serendipity!—while
winning spins, for losing wins, while complete a section at hearts: such para-psychology, where fires are afoot,
rising by Jupiter’s Illusion—as Neptune soars, those Taurus eyes, feeling for
screaming this Pisces. We become
leopards, if unlucky a storm, or through moral
a trusted legend: that blue-whale-passion; that infant us: such miracle communion!
