I thought to pains, this crypt for soaring:
this indisputable blueprint. I debated
mirrors, with time to see, as sought a feeling this fire. I saw dreamy intuition, kettle corn
revelries, and ice-bars melting with syllables.
I chuckled at self, alive a symphony-bird, listening to cadence: that
doctor’s brain, that beige frontal-pose, this electricity stating its fever: as
Versace visions, or architectural sadness, remodeling our rumors. Its un-gripped pliers, remotes gone haywire,
and lethargic ceiling fans: this spacial feeling, moving by resonance, to
commune so steeply our running(s): if
solely at voice, this Buddhist Atmosphere,
to tilt a person’s gaze from afar: or yogic pride, such Republic Power, to
simmer into three days of Heart-Pyres. I
should to drift, allergic to sentiments, by pure distaste this febrile
paradox—where souls adore, this cemented-abstract, a hair flagrant concerning
eternity: those taupe ribbons, that pink tie, those suade blue moccasins;
insofar, as compelling, that hint of blush, as if a soul has gazed beyond
intuitions. I thought to sunshine, this
spiky warfare, and our days to manuscripts: that psyche volt, that psychic
lance, that psychiatric maze—where songs are Green, this fusion by Purple, our
seams Mahogany-Violet. We dance this
shadow, alert for Cultured, where souls attract foreign Queens: this speeding
for details, this Force to Chemistry, as said an aphorism by weary fires.
I could to shift, as behaving coldly,
while analyzing at such a distance: this killing of sanctions, while choosing
dispositions, aroused by cynical promise; indeed, as falling whispers, our
hours to fantasies, where it felt good to exist as centerpiece: that punctured
vase, this island lantern, that weeping keepsake: as oaken rivers, and tiny
toes, by riches this skin-soled perfume: that chase to dungeons, while brooding
his life, as to receive a telegram: this hoof to guts, this roof unbuttoned,
and those few lines speaking to existence—whereas, a lion cried, a serpent
smiled, while chimpanzees ran frantically; and, nevertheless, this violent
texture, to abort our winds, while fleeing this rearview mirror. I’m vacant knowledge, or swimming wisdom, at
essence concerned with connections:
our trenchant debuts, this audience screeching, as perspiration bleeds through garments.
It seems unfair, by confessed but dreams,
where this becomes desire: this man raking, those leaves blowing, this angst
chasing—as barking ensues, this jaguar as pet, this intimidating
actuality—where love is cordial, at best, a vexation, while two have met but
passing with roadrunners: this embraced chaos, as steaming with ecstasies,
while lost this wilderness of coyotes: as catchy webs, to pursue with taint, as
painted a smile resenting its passivity; insofar, a curse, as stitched a
blessing, while daredevils exist those radical seesaws.
We live recruited, flipping through
gestations, framed as psychological souls: as saying but fragments, crocheting
this portrait, to come to edges desiring sand-abrasions: if but a soul in time,
or but a culture to seas, as confined a man to schematics: I’ll dream a
feeling, to become said sensation, while cautious a drifting flute; indeed, by
Heart-Harps, or a seasonal leopard, captured by [the] nature of his worship: this island soul, featured among
myriads, while tinkering with subjective-objectives: at course to minds, to
admire this Force, a peg concerned with vulnerability—this shadowing ghost,
this host of postmodernity, as witnessed those rays to arcs—as, furthermore,
this deep root, as perfected by deep pains, to erect a cedar-tree of fuses: this
reaching soul, this permanence that Book, this essence crosswise our Existence:
as children leaping, grabbing to leaves, while sustained by steep imagination:
this losing of wrenches, to acquire electric tools, where manual concerns are
shaved in halves: this picture dreaming, this passion amuck…our persons analyzing this steed to flickers.
