…it
has become me, such intimate dialogue, such hostile whiplash: at brave
junctures, debating his mirror, to oops upon silence: this typical menu, those
atypical cliffs, at turns too much riddle: to hear pins drop, to shiver in
stillness, at memories those formative months: our broken paddles, our leaky
rafts, whereby, it felt life to experience: those talkative moments, those
eerie breezes, while passion becomes this tournament…. I peek at silence, I believe something
lives, and ache those churn-like examples: at core values, made privy to
existence, where agonies anticipate ruins: those peaceful cats, while looking
around, to sprint at once: those nosy canines, sniffing carpet, and barking
wildly: as souls outreached, this need to ingest life, where reality
contradicts our teachings: those tales about goblins, to happen upon something
facial, while persistent those mystery chants: our tides ebbing, to wander
something psychosomatic, while too churned to believe otherwise. I haven’t a clue, to pair experience with
fact, but, in belief, something antagonizes our souls: those flying particles,
this neat behavior, where something has tugged our attention: to examine self,
to art for goodness, and to repent
for misdeeds: those small things, our larger sensories, or this confusion
concerning universal control: our meddling minds, our sounds through motion, to
happen upon a heartbeat: at yoga sensing our bodies, at passion running our
course, or such music in something experiential: those esoteric cries, this
neat notebook, while kneading over subjective truths: those valley thoughts,
that farm of puppies, our clocks ticking to something that races: at casual
spins, too real to ignore, and too foreign to scream out loudly. I glance at time, a bit hostile towards
time, and a bit thankful for time: our churns through existence, those entities
smiling, and those few in touch with extra-energies: to peer at skies, but
symbols and crosses, while wrestling something prophetic: our visionary hearts,
our awestruck brains, or this radicalized dream: while insides are watching,
negotiating correlations, while guiding behaviors: (What is there to us, How do
we evolve, lastly, Does it require resistance?): thereto, this intimate scar,
those deep meditations, or something extra: indeed, with tyranny, something
seeming otherworldly, even something with sheer attitude: at thoughts
flinching, as I watched closely, to shiver at a thought: our pushiness—at wee
hours, nudging an occurrence: or this need to disappear, as never another
experience, while healing diminishes such realities: this semi-proof,
interrogating its subject, where passion is determined by inner
mechanisms. …we singe erasers,
looking into motives, while abandoned to escaping our brains: or masters by arts,
or angry monks, seeping deeper into madness: as minutes evaporate, as seconds
speed by, where energy appears: by subtle measures, to conjure a miracle, while
something inward desires certain thoughts: those long races, while encouraged
to race, where our finish-line races into dark tunnels: those gates insistent,
those cliffs gawking, while something exotic is mocking life: as never a scent,
and never a whiff, while racing backwards: our mental movement, our torn
elation, about something fleeting…. …we
fail to discuss it, it becomes elusive, plus, some things are better to
experience: this inner lighthouse, those broken wires, this gaudy gnarm: our
fangs dripping realities, our souls sneaking through terrains, to notice our
dreams seeping into our daylight hours: this sheer feeling, those shorn
thoughts, at seconds, to notice a stammer: at multiple emotions, majestic about
life, and wrestling an oracle: but life is mystery, while we doubt experience,
to avoid disorder….
