How to Repave Debris!

I know for names, at love with vengeance, and married to fantasy: this local genius, this mistreated fire, or pouches filled with fairy-dust: this knuckle bleeding, this metaphysical knuckle, this yelling mother: at straits with justice, or Cheers with mourning, sensing Diane in myriad women: us classic fools, at love with patience, or forbidden from Love.

We feel different, a bit lonely, a bit intoxicated: this brilliant daisy, this craving soul, while feeling, hooking satiability: those rosy icebergs, this love about prose, or this miracle motorcycle ride: those dead, beautiful women, this deep neuroses, those kleptomaniac curses: as feeling distorted, this carrot of insanity, our gorgeous catastrophes: this breathless odor, this odor by womb, this deadly inebriation: or days longing, or nights breaking loose, to arise during morning pondering those names: this rabid sensation, this dribbling athlete, by ages looking forbidden.

I die skiing passions, at honor to resist our souls, while tending to sour our castles: that remarkable lens, this crafted pixel, or years to becoming a woman’s friend: those raging sensories, this cacophony of relations, where aches creep into owls.

…our cries invade China, our ills trespass Europe, and our sickness seeps into London: this fool in brains, this dancing hijacker, those extra-ordinary missed missiles: as eyes clinging, this inner winner, while lose abuses our losers: as cussed for screaming, or dead for living, at one with criminal abandonment: those dreams laughing, this sniped deer, those adders laughing: as inter-lies, or intra-cries, while assuming our characters: this home-plate, this cosmic controversy, where we resist proprieties if but to endure ourselves: this captive feeling, those exceptions aflame, while rules of conduct appear loosely: this pool of agitation, our contorted faces, to realize this created universe: as sipping ink, or slicing paper, or composing too close to reality…this localized scream, or uncovered silence, while becoming liquids.

…our perception wavers, as felt by pure authority, this need for submission: to carry on as different, to believe as normality, while tugged eluding capture: this felt realism, this nuance by persons, if but accepted by this tragic consensus: this unfair battle, this placemat for lies, as walking while counting disappointments: as misperceived, our closets opening, our laundry beneath kaleidoscopes: this space of behaviors, or this perfect response, while dungeons scream for closure: our zombie attentiveness, or miracle arrivals, while clutching our inner centers: or sober cries, or sober attitudes, or hatred for self while sober….

I have a dilemma—this crazy perception, as misinformed concerning motives: this mental traffic, this moving by lanes, this red light: to pause and nibble a chip, or swig a 7up: this realized attitude, this realized person, and those realized insecurities: as indicative of rationalized thoughts, this protected hut, this fortified mirror—as needing trespasses, if but to feel human, while secluded within an alternative cosmos: our building debris; our deep intolerance; while strangers lurk nearby: indeed, to create a problem, as deliberate necessity, where one is partly predetermined: this casual presence, while pursuing self-interests, while selling altruism: that wrench twisting, those pliers laughing, while internally our group is at mind-wars: this resistant heroine, this juvenile delinquent, or this radiant glow induced—where agony is at home, as children possess this malady, while said heroine is learning to fix a ruined highway.

I spark tobacco, lost in water, and finding laughter resistant: this edge for some, this clairvoyant catastrophe, this mirage of mirrors: this lucrative dynamic, this trespassing army, or years at abeyance: this blackdamp, this siphoned soul, this leaky persona: as men dying, or feeling good, our mornings returning to home-plate: this inn about minds, those ghosts about chimneys, even this crush about loyalties: our Christmas aches, our New Year’s resolutions, or days to sitting in limbo: this casual affair, this insidious debut, where hope wavers in either direction: moreover, this curse, at months creating friction, while staring at an inner stranger: this need to fix, if but this bypasser, in order to feel redeemed at home: or casual routines, followed by casual outcomes, while one becomes disgusted by casual existence.     …there’s little resolution, and seldom undifferentiated redemption, while souls argue our defenses: this world of treasures, this angle for domination, while losing interest in conquered pursuits: this agitating reality, those charming bracelets, as indicative of our scars: this urn of insistence, those years of warfare, or something near normal feeling unsuitable: our damaged perceptions, our culprits needing redemption, while inner realities tend to remain defensive: this slice of indifference, our hypersensitive agonies, while forgetting our established behaviors: where passions are distinguished, or inner sources are construed, while reality serves as reminder of failures…our ticking clocks, out trespassing sorrow, or this particular thought—where children seem aloof, or preoccupied with judgments, if but to release those experiences: to churn in private, or to excuse self, as but this needed mechanism: as blaming for freedom, or resistant for liberty, while saddened deeply by images: our winning society, our captive behaviors, or fire and barricades….

…as a human soul, I harbor hostilities, and anchor positive perceptions—if but to survive: notwithstanding, false realities damage—this otherwise melancholic vessel—while others are frustrated, peering at something indelicate, as accustomed to certain patterns of interaction: this radiant design, notwithstanding, intentionality, and responding accordingly, nonetheless: this vague enterprise, this life-giving force, or this reason to persevere: as acclimated creatures, while others are stagnant, afforded this chance to behave as normal: indeed, after decades at war, to meet sophistication, and sophistication demands that you catch up: furthermore, sophistication demands conformity, where unsaid anomaly lacks training, while sophistication becomes this pinch: our years to understanding pain, this forfeited reality, for unsaid soul seems different...!