…by
something occurring, we make complex arrangements, while irritability probes
its conscience: this web of silence, this portal of demands, or those
realizations concerning behavior: our questioned eyes, our repeated situations,
at points, acquiring expertise: our unicorn noses, our needs for acceptance,
while dragons roam our shores. I was
younger at lies; it appeared inconsequential; it became a serious dilemma….
…our
days are complex, at seconds, our eyes gloss, and our treasures seem abstract:
our viable guts, our living propositions, our telling impulses: or those garden
flowers or lemons sprouting, where foliage increases with time: this undergrowth
life, this miracle insistence, and intrusive mirrors: those swimming ideals,
our cadence with life, and our fires singing in turquoise: whereat, are
metaphysical charms, or epistemic battles, while skeptic-arcs interrogate
doubts…this winter’s ships, this canyon raft, and ladders that enter skies: our
valued intuitions, our remorse for agonies, or our sad pudding—wherewith, our
trenchant complexes, our dalliances with music, or our flirtation with becoming
actors: this film within, this cinema at synaptic gaps, and our rebel hearts:
moreover, this curse this living machine, this bodily communication: our aging
requirements, our Icy Hot, and our anti this or that….
I
stopped at windiness, this island of
introspection, as concluding myriad wrongs:
this need for acceptance, as social creatures, living our gregarious
loneness: this ghostly room, this inner hyena, this melancholic coyote: our
days watching clouds, our nights listening to chimes, or sudden upon feelings:
our present hearts, our distant brains, and years while chasing mystery: this
mental phoenix, this songbird flame, or by seconds, our interior doubts: those
racing mornings; those charming evenings; and this lake of concrete positions:
whereto, this rigid atmosphere, or this latter thought, our time making peace
with myriads experiences: our gray landscapes, presuming such as bottom-lines,
where reality nudges our intestines.
I
remember our youth, as infatuated hummingbirds, or rapturous gray whales: at
self-conscious waves, blending into self-conscious thoughts, at this vulnerable
bridge: those beige memories, seated at yellow roses, while admiring
social-academia: those subtle knowhow(s), our analytical natures, a bit perturbed
by omitted actions: this land of casualties, this notion of causalities, or
this skyward cave: at solitary-public, this thought for reality, while admired
within: this torn confession, this lost adventure, or this adamant chase for
prose: our days ignoring humans, while seasoned by human activity, while
settled in particular pash: those darting souls, this incredible voyage, to
imagine that Love is a perfect soul-fire: our clumsy thoughts, perfected by
mere a glance, to include a stranger in future ideals: as ravished souls, at
romantic cliffs, our Kierkegaardian leaps: where pressures dangle, where wires
tangle, while sudden upon a salacious feeling: or sore at magazines, or
pondering brochures, where Love is curious.
…it
becomes science, this shield of torments, our realities probing epistemic(s):
this timed existential, this Categorical
Imperative, as consumed by duty: this
lifted philosophy, this mega-internal, or those ‘things’ that give life its importance: as purified creatures,
living particular straight-lines, while merely peeking at alternative paths:
our deep souls, laughing with glee, while carrying humanity: our table tulips,
our garden shrubberies, and years at decoration: our interior feng shui, our
brain’s settee, or this lavish indecision….
