Existence: This Stirring of Planets

Sadness curries life, this telic portal, this resistant message—as pure dingoes, or savage wolves, by fetters addicted to metaphors: this torrent laughter, as misconceived, our facial encounters—to witness insanity, while feeling compassion, our souls medicated unto behaviors: this liquid pollen, this hectic ivory, our porcelain afflictions: if but as taught, this island of patience, our instincts as autonomies: this vague image, assorted by lavenders, our violet-blue skies—if but to sing, as sung our symphonies, our lungs heavy by nicotine(s): this picture made cadence, those rosary eyes, this enveloped seduction—as dying its incipience, while cleaving its omega, our grade-school influenzas—as purposed to love, this lover of souls, affected by sheer resentments: that casual grin, this tale as self, our mirrors distorted by self-portraits: that calm agony, those velvet bones, this thought to gripping its ropes—as pure vandals, our insatiable appetites, as filled with sorrow abating our instincts: those infant cries, this adult desire, our waves cutting into realities: that jasper heart, this steep mood-shift, that irrational volt: if but as lived, our pregnant credenzas, this flight to turquoise as livid its congestions: that curious feeling, this want for purpose, our eyes determining if others are equipped with happiness: that sudden hang-up, this fevered anxiety, our petals stirred into traffic: that cage rumbling, this soul to afflictions, this woman seated in silent miseries—while living monopolies, as connected with underworlds, where it felt ecstatic to become psychotic: those roses bleeding, that tulip grieving, this phone-voice as pure enchantments—if torn to graves, than life to flights, where passions become nuisances—or nuance caves, those walls to scribbling(s), those seraphim(s) to music.

Shell-shocked

...you chance rivers, so blinded by needs, as accustomed to surpass selfishness…this glamorous sky-fire, this torrent in eyes, this Bhakti extravaganza….  [I purpose a scream, listening for swans, afire with strangers—as not to provoke, but truth to essence, We know merely vibrations…as this is sinning, or winning fragrances, this patch of cranberries: those webs abundant, this nip by spiders, this metaphysical Biorè—where souls clash, as pulling forward, while others stand at distances: this man to lies, as speaking prisons, accustomed to sullenness: that winning estate, this cryptic atmosphere, to become so steep allergic to ghosts: those faint prickles, this alarming consciousness, our beds sudden to shift: those warm waters, this bathing in Jell-O, this quickness to lights as falling upwards…as casual fools, interpreting invisibility, while whales hanker silence]. 

…you chase feelings, or brood insanities, or aflame this curse reeling in felicities: that paper crinkling, that soundful pen, those letters forming identities: as slaves by freedoms, or freedoms by slaves, to invest so much in simple gestures: this human instinct, while secure a feeling, where inconsistencies speak to inner traumas: this small helium, this bloated essence, our nights to private thoughts—where Love shows affection, such familiar innocence, or calculated tyrannies.  I divorce that thought, as aiming for clarities, this pagan to souls as afforded our curses—that wellic agony, this hungry state, our existence to birds shifting our reticence.  (…as time shall perish, our aging(s) to brains, this consistence pursuing self-agencies: or wanting more, as dying more, where parents point to legacies: our small vessels, this moving wit, our status as steep realities: if but to harness, this phoenix-sky, our clouds inverted as humans: this tale by souls, at love with arts, to casual life removing malaise:—or seated at contradictions, fleeing for raptures, so embedded our brains begin to alight upon sky-gravel).