…if
but a piece of me, if but utter consideration, where souls stress decencies: if
but our minds, papered in disciplines, if but diligence afforded our
occupation…! …we dismiss by claims,—that
many are living our ideals, and many are experiencing our joys: this tale nailed
in bottles, these seas inside out, or skies upside down: those mere imprints,
our lonesome cries, or pampered from birth ‘til middle age: that roaring
monster, those pure reflections, or anger so steep it’s difficult to
soar…. I used to mirror search—plaguing
such dark smoke, as one hardcore against cigarettes: I used to swim
imagination, with longing certainties, or deep coping skills: our mountains
crying, our raisins against our sun, our terrors abated with liquorish: those
small eyes, those almond lollypops, at variances so thick we stumble accidentally
upon Reality…those misused ambitions,
this city with Caesar, those coins belonging to their owners: or pressed
against pressures, those mid-dream giggles, while others are resting
soundly.
Councils
are watching, souls are liquidated, where passions are simmering: this terror
of thieves, those a.m. wings, or mornings rinsing out minds: our achy realities, our achy women, or pure
disinterests: at savage meditation, or savage trauma, afforded two persons to
ravage: our sensory lives, our correlations, or societal spell-locks: where men are young, and children are clarities, where
grandparents surf while grounding seaweed: this tunnel of manuscripts, our
lives sketched upon cardboard, where at frustration we call forward: our groins
by mythology, our minds needing guidance, our souls reaching for literature:
this frantic region, this pure escape, ‘til Reality
imbues its gift: if but with wings, if but with song, while encouraged to ponder
our abysmal thoughts: that distant film, those evening wishes, or pure delusion
spent with happiness.
…it
dawns upon thinkers, as all are thinking—“that life could feel richer”:
this barbeque atmosphere, this rented beach, or this shoreline house mad with
excitement: our glass-castles, those pints of relaxation, or mirrors appearing
at midday: our pierced ears, our harnessed horses, our inscrutable cops—as
lives this existence, our purple ideals, as if morning-breath is rosy: where
mother is sanity, and aunt is security, where cousins fathom our hemispheres:
those lakes flipping, this frog flippant, and our failures inverted into
diamonds: therewith, our rural cities, this damsel in dire liquid, our
quicksand hardening by love: indeed, a dreamer, this world by appetites, and
our experiences sufficient ‘til our urges renew…!
I
pause by antennas—such begonia nightmares, or cavalier anxieties: our waxing
frenzy, our mirrors buffed, our souls buffered: this lit cigar, those wailing
ashes, or this need to invest in mentors: while absent to stressors, this
person dying, as needing us to keep glue together: our mental instincts, our
permanent indiscretions, or our reborn fevers longing for simple enjoyments:
this forfeited reality, as far too
exposed, while hoping simplicity for our children: this circular curse, those
batting stars, where examples carry more weight than words. …we exist in colors, we seesaw in palaces,
we remove our cries from our children: this good person, these remorseful
habits, but able to console a child: that difficult woman, with so much to
praise, while tears drop…at parallels demanding—this music in Jesus, if but to
cull forward such existence: our daughters laughing, our sons involved, our
homes that sentence that sways: if but our minds, if but our souls, at late
evening tetras: this marvelous person, our steep feelings, our terror-struck
receptors: to possess infinity, to
scream at poetic favor, while at Love reaching for sanity: this Diamond
Dynasty, while poverty is lurking, wherewith, this rich appreciation!
