I
drift afar, caught for captured, in pure admiration: such lipstick allure, such
death at bays, or turquoise sensations: our carnival veins, our high note
symbols, as high-tech souls: this last rite, our spiders in eyes, our agonies
in jars: this tiny ship, this infinite wound, at tension combating nerves: to
die with passion, to live as watching, while anguish seeps through marrow: this
road of rhinestones, or Paris hierarchy, afloat a magnanimous ghost: this fever
by amore, those sensitive neurons, or
cleaving for snatching attempting to crash: at islands adrift, this Geico
Insurance, or days whispering to US Bank: if but to touch, if but to panic, at Time whispering to winds: such feudal
delays, our nights at confession, our groins suffering as internal shifters:
our probiotics, while sleeping at sunrise, to over analyze something needing
affection: such musical attraction, or cosmetic infatuation, feeling for
failing interpretation: those tulip cries, those tulip eyes, this daisy
symbolism: to shutter at suggestion, or panic at notation, as one abandoned to
dragon-hood: this bristle-like courage, to dance as pencils, while Dungeon cries through night-burn: those
wretched ladybugs, this wretched lovemaking, or years to reanalyzing insanity.
I
came through tunnels, but a lad in sandals, or but a muffled scream: this deep
wilderness, those shifting emotions, those volcanic skies: to run through lava,
to sense something melting, to awaken in icy rooms: our shivering muscles,
while flowers bloom, our clouds raining begonias: at rest but nervous, at
jitters somewhat calm, while analyzing interior sensations: such spinning
canyons, or rocky rafts, our bodies pulsating at every churn: our heaving
chests, our deepest breaths, to realize that motion is stillness: our deserts
swimming, those rays to sunbeams, to note in syllables a beetle: those
loquacious mirages; those inferno visions; or windy valleys!
I
drift over yonder, running through caves, to happen upon mystery: this fragile
dynamic, this feral dream, our fevered demands: as aloof creatures, vying for
nearness, our stomachs growling: those watchful tumbleweeds, this city of
sands, or interior mountains: those blue waters, that leafless tree, those
purple ashes: to remember breakfast, to ponder deer, at curtains that dream.
…we
reappear as souls, or mighty winds, terrified by existence: this world of
inconsistency, this turbulent breath-war, while, nonetheless, we venture with
fires: our peanuts with coffee, our agonies with courage, our romance with
boundaries: such inner sketching, as etching our parameters, while seated
around pantomimes: our axes to fables, our screams to silence, our laughs to
graves: if but with joy, to arrive at midweek, our terrors at sabbaticals:
those serene seas, this growing courage, our fantastic miracles: to soar our
skies, as adrift circuits, where deep thought determines localities: those
bells singing, our souls at voice, our passions unchained….
