(greetings & linage, Love; this adored
castle, our sky-parades, or thoughts by guts flying gravity: this whirl-fire,
this endless firebrand, or this feeling where Life is corrupt: those angry
drillings, this chance at redemption, or this granny speaking miracles: our
flakes with strawberries, our potatoes with honey, or this sandwich with
butter: our tuna melts, and radical cauliflower, or such hankerings for bacon
burgers: at voice with laughter, at realities with pains, or ashamed too far
into futures: this brilliant magnolia, our powdered donuts, or this fast
lasting into its feast: those orange lights, this wave of spirits, at courage
this feeling while sprinting). I
magnify at times, a tear shorn to games, at chess at flickers this reservoir:
indeed, by customs, or radiant costumes, or unbearable habits: our fumes with
ravens, our trails with cadence, or our comfort foods becoming repellant: to
sing with siblings, by rights to dance, where solemn feelings seem trampled:
this gutty emotion, this pile of trinkets, or this creative ritual—as fused
into Life, this examination, where thoughts picture our countenance: that
ravishing quiescence, that luminous excitement, where onlookers shriek with retractions:
as marvelous cooks, those exquisite entrées, while fretting ingredients. …to break ice this wave, or shadow paint
this flame, at seconds feeling quite interrogated—by inner geese, or inkling
leprechauns, where many need encryptions: these mental pieces, as they come
into courts, where reality must assist our allegations: if but by crocheting,
this knit system of feelings, where insistence becomes reviewed: our core
banshees, this jingling by chains, this early category: those brave lullabies,
or this chaotic dimension, while holding to clamps: by tyranny’s remorse, or
affection’s affliction, while portraits by brains relinquish responsibility:
those inner scents, this past-Life fragrance, where chimneys appeal to soot….
…we try through damages, we die looking
through grime, and we exist making redemption: this peril in traumas, this
elation found forgiven, or this preparing our own travesties: this alive feeling,
this trenchant sorrow, this psych’s war-glance: at tender memories, or explored
by tragedies, where colors blink into havens: our shared perceptions, as
millipedes running, while morphing into those fantastic gorillas: our deep
essence, this gland flippant, or trails for months that become small: those
leaky eyes, that gracile miracle, or charms that become treacherous: our inner
avenues, our crushes upon unreality, or this ache to retrieve something as
thrown back: those long essays, or this feeling in memoires, or this undulation
while meditated those states: as gunning mermaids, or sirens nearby, where
ships clash with resistance: this tug at honor, this person at anger, as before
those days of pure ignorance: to laugh in private, where one felt love, while
agony becomes slung into vengeance: those tiny cakes, aside French Vanilla, to
awaken with this rich fever—those taste-buds reaching, or aquamarine
atmospheres, or this intimate ceiling: as cut in pieces, while living as
wholeness, where secrets re-seam relentless….
I drop tears for Life, and ponder your
nights, while fleeing this turn for blaming: as chiseling harmony, while tugged
by cadence, and at converse with this phoenix: our tales as evasive, our guts
as microphones, and God as this friend in alignment with our customs: this
fretted reality, this tale on cultic compounds, or this ashram ruined by sexual
activity: this lust with Life, this tale with tinges, or this radicalized
dissention: as nibbling protein, or counting our grams, this same event with
Love: as thugs fall apart, while teaching through insecurities, where aguish
appears as normal: to re-event aglets, to retie our knots, or to unloosen our
trenchant passions: those carbohydrates, or good fats, or terrible feelings
while anchored is sure shot decisions: or a bit to fantasy, digging nostrils in
Europe, or celebrating in fresh green waters.
