But hell to feelings, as we must escape them,
such crystal scarifications: that mobile thought, as rabid concentration, to
desire likeminded debates: this woman as pure, notwithstanding, bars, fleeing
to presence aloft a mahogany settee: this music bleeding, our brains as lethal,
our fantasies making reservations—as lives our souls, our spacial
complications, at fawning memories. I
shift a notion, to conjure welts, this friend playing pretend—as never for
riches, while ever for powers, our daughters as purifications. Its rubric roses, inclined features, our
nostalgic brains: if but to perish, as if we lived, I’d return, pleading for
forty acres. Its flowery opalescence,
and inner opuses, this devious concerto: to have this second, as freedom’s
guillotine, our inwards becoming outcasts.
I know a feeling, seeking this whirlwind, our pools pitted in bacteria:
that vacuum heart, that turquoise sky, our feelings splayed as demented our
souls. I’m jasper dreams, to fiddle with
toes, at sudden, a nose bleed: this faithful onyx, pitching obscenities,
tugging for yanking abroad an inner dimension.
[You descry rhythms, confined in panic, while studied as an object of
curiosity: our indelible scars, sifted through angels, our sidereal passions:
where Love was art, this flamed-infatuation, while screaming, Those dreams are for fools. Our wretchedness, as terse apathies, or
reticent jewels: to comfort with helium, or smother with sulfur, this kiss as
reaching its terminal. We must escape,
this inescapable life, falling for stretching beyond limits: our gravid skies,
our lurid hearts, this collision smashing out doubts: to have that feeling, as
raffled for divinity, this sweet adoring ransom]. I sweven inventions, courted by presence, to
realize we torture as not for satisfaction—but more a curse to examine this
essence, flamed for killed remembering this precious swan: our cold glaciers;
our mid-ocean ridge, this frenzy to have something that might lose its texture;
indeed, for honesty, as ruined a legacy, this demon but a silent horizon: this
inner thole, as suffering begins, while fevered a feeling as felt dementia: our
needs to wist, this ancient rift, by passions clashing with internal
philosophies. I sought a Sensei, as
submissive violence, outdone ravished by undoing(s): this mental kung fu, or
emotional taekwondo, seated for arising in tai chi—as nonplus adventures,
sectioned as Zen, this livid, radical fantast: those cured eyes, as dying,
nonetheless, where it felt good to
receive admirations: this feeling-phantom, our souls’ apparitions, this marble
Cross—insomuch as life, to want beyond measure, while to praise resistance:
this human title, so good for badness, while becoming this malignant
episode: our restless voltage, this gallery by Christ, this remorseful
padlock. I must address it, our hands
filled by blood, our legacies splintered for nearly ruined—this second for tea,
this glass teapot, our palms laughing while dying tears: this welkin favor, as
acute to breathing, but a pictureless rapture.
I could as resilience; this shouldn’t mentality, while remembering
something lived as elusive: this daily gamble, this sunshine nectar, this
keystone veil. (I took to silence, this
animalistic mourning, while plagued by a sad countenance: this rescue fever, as
demanding eternity, as foreign to love a promiscuous essence: this thin soul,
at terrible raptures, our Magdalene friends: as, hitherto, such dusky skies, a
man infatuated by a second: this shifty soul, at love for spirits, while flung
into revolving mirrors: this bodily sketch, this furious muse, our minds at
cadence: as much regret, finding while demented, to avail but small
comforts—this grandiose lion, while distressed by notches, a peg a day snatched
from of crises: this wonderful soul, this windfall electricity, this vision as
more by contrasts: to admire resilience, at love this millennia, while broken
for discarded, at terrible admiration—this fuel dripping, this princess living,
our days to pure nonchalance. It could
be life, or deaths to vast degrees, this irremovable kernel: to flicker with
time, our mystic infusions, this instrumental-mallet-scar.
