…by candid screams, this miscalculation,
or tarnished misthoughts: to hope by imagination, this wailing vehicle, or such
by comforts those moments: our dragon lives, this Chinese investigation, at
tears sawing through iron: this force within, our wellic dreams, insomuch—those transparent mirrors: our spoken voices,
our chalice miracles, while daunted by this interior mentality…this darkened
sin, that deficit of honor, where immoral reality occupies sunlight: thither,
our lives, as caged pheasants, our flippant ignorance: to trespass gardens,
plucking our neighbor’s ribs, and sutured with sheer travesty: this black moon,
or walking day-night, as we delve deeper into oxymoron(s): those small islands,
as we circle tragedy, or better, as we create reasons to persevere…. I misread ambition, while nibbling
sugarcane, a bit eager trekking darkness: thereupon, our rubric cries, our
desperate deserts, and desserts with vinegar: those shaming ashes, those
snail-paced prayers, or this embarrassing insistence: our wants for normality,
if but to sacrifice reality, hereto, our partial perceptions. It depends upon lights, this pond with
algae, this tadpole wiggling: those running lioness, that trenchant
embarrassment, and, hitherto, we shun reminders: and there it lives, that open
scar, that trickling acid: where art becomes tragic, or paired by insanities,
as to arrive whispering, I feel you!—this
keen creature, as running across Africa, attempting to rebuild an ancient
tribe: those sharp emotions, those blooming creators, thereto, this creation
with time sitting stillness: to blossom through pains, with capturing rains,
while perfection disguises its wounds: those wilderness camels, or nearby
donkeys, where forgiveness often means, I
love you!—our filmed insanity, our holy reality, and this unleashed
abeyance.
I see resistance; I feel insistence; I
release perception:
…this welted sky, those bleeding clouds,
this acidic river: as chosen by darkness, while inverted unto light, where this
adventure proves to mold character: those thrumming drums, this humming
tyranny, or beige petals leaking sap: to believe in purities, while dislodged
by purities, where life drips tragedy: such flippant fire, as to have our
reality, where common decencies remain fugitives: this mental leprechaun, this
tall white tree, or this burgundy ocean: those flowing tides, this passive
ship, this inner Jonah: to feel wrongness,
while understanding contempt, but ever to ask, It this a two way Street?—as livid at times, or dogmatic at reigns,
while confused concerning interior dialogues: this perfect essence, while
feeling distressed, where certain realities must remain silent: those deep
roots, threaded by misthoughts, where joy tends to emerge….
