Tuesday, August 21, 2018

Crappy Chats

I can’t remember subtle, at evenings worshiping, Subtle, by means alive this subtle atmosphere: our Pakistan Brides, this curious creature, and this echoed profanity: moreover, a curse, gazing into beauty, or laughing for far so immature: this needy creation, this independent creation, where a man feels awkward: our brains to rescues, as feeling secure, where Love is quite to wavering: this missed ship, this crying igloo, or days to hating our guts: thereto, this missing balloon, this wailing kettle, this glorious summer: at angry fingers, or tips brewing vodka, or memories where Love was quite indecent: those road beetles, those deep abrasions, this similarity to longevity: our selfish replies, our needs for attention, as centered this Asian furniture: or laughing with Love, this eternal stingray, this precious, soft material: as swollen eyes, and pints of cognac, or nights wrestling for a decent climax: this future Washington, our skin-tight deaths, or German fevers—to arrive at time, or to resist for success, while tugged for yanked crying into ceilings.     I centipede venom, I dance like July, this man taken by belly chanters: that whelmed century, this revolving pistol, those pages of energy: to hit, destroy, and earthquake a soul: this up for lights, this down for darkness, to realize souls are watching: this provocative lizard, those hind legs, while nibbling poison grass: if but to live, or furious at flights, to have, possess, and keep through existence: our crazy ideals, this winning youth, or minds meeting at tables: to churn worlds, our cubs grinning, our souls at thoughts: that beautiful this, that glorious that, or trials to come: if but to flourish, this flippant morality, or guts striving for indecencies.     Such salty lakes, those elegant lies, this soul chugged by strangers: to arouse a feeling, to die those rivers, as dressing his ocean: that potent loudness, this thrust for deaths, or passing upon a lively birth: at tales laughing, at privacies crying, while treacherous a notch repenting: this world to songs, this ant to battles, this cactus as metaphorical: where Love is grimaced, or tending to perish, where two walk separately: this crucial junction, this daily ritual, this treasure passing upon train-wrecks.

I visit psychoses, this eloquent language, this mis-pursued psyche: as both to rhine(s), or both to curses, while avoiding our brains: this dead man, this living soul, to adventure taboo crevices: those cultic islands, this gin with wine, this far too glorious damsel: our weeks at passion, to come to reality, as Love retreats into exospheres: those dying pleasures, those fond memories, to arise an enemy of his feelings: this chiseled element, this intoxicating axiom, or this failed fantasy: where less is more, as potent as chronic, as purple as Cush: that maniac gaze, those maniac inducements, where one meets us at our gates: this sickly feature, as retrieved by psychiatrists, where we sense this deep contradiction: or oxymoron(s), or deep resistance, as crushed by dynamic talents: (this friend in private, this warrior at public life, while desperate to cocoons: those hazel-brown pears, those deep intoxications, or this world so new to old souls: this prehistoric link, this village of inclinations, or this hard won singularityJ): where souls become normal, this rich postulate, or minds become wholeness—this tender delicacy, those years at brain-wars, or this faint ability to bring features under submission: an element to wildness, for this threshold lingers, where one can be tampered with: those genius souls, cutting at subliminals, while educating this inner receiver: our trenchant successes, our brandies with ice-cubes, our women as faraway believers: this chant to energies, this wealth within Jews, or eyes to Australians while re-gifting our sentiments: this London Cry, those Dutch Ambassadors, this Mystic Unreality: while agonies grow limbs, to induce this split, while two walk this valid vex: to die as losing, to lose as winning, where features train in acceptance of being received.

Empty Space

    I’ve been in this space before—it seems natural, the affection of energies. Such interwoven moods, a series of underpinnings. A differen...