…at intervals, thoughtless, reminded of reality, and
seized by anxieties:
those pavement
lights, this curious say good, at
feelings by resonance: this cultic planet, those realized women, or forces
tugging sincerity: our black skies, our jasper lines, or this edifice in yoga:
our eating hearts, our purple horizons, our daily dreams: as adored creatures,
or pagan winners, aloof for indifferent: this lose in personality, this
receiving of self, at dire restraints attempting to loosen—this shell-shocked
mentality, this mirror as deceptive, or
perceptions built upon insecurities: this motor revving, this pitcher pouring,
this night to talkative pillows: therewith, such deprivation, by the children of men, our caves thrust
into public witnesses…. …this mental continuum, those media
brains, our receptors imbalanced: this curse for children, our receiving,
innocent souls, where misidentification lurks beyond humans: this inner tunnel,
this shadow in Jung, at borrowed realities: to assume ownership, to release
something pure, in exchange for homogeny: those beige berets, that realized
glitter, or striving for miracles: our perfumed existence, our intrinsic
characteristics, our borrowed realities: those sad instincts, or joys in
another person’s screams, to live by love, or die by love, while insistence
seems to sting: this parrot in realities, this list of clichés, this demand to
attack something as newness: our ruined smiles, at rivers by normality, if but
to exhaust this surviving interior: as disappointed, but challenged to breathe,
at parallels struggling at geometrics….
…our ladybugs flying, our pigeons partaking, our ducks a bit aggressive:
this natural reality, this semblance of personhood, at midday analyzing
perfected perceptions (or ravishing illusions): this engine in clouds, this
raining universe, this insistence upon winning wars daily: our minds reacting,
our feelings constructed, our responses stemming from tragedies: such catnip
religiosity; such reaching for guidance; or this order becoming quite
intolerant: at white gardens, this violet of dreams, this relaxed nature afraid
to evade perceptions: that meditative existence, this inner brochure, this
inner tabloid—where father lives, where mother dines, while grandparents design
something reaching into our futures: our social highs, our social seesaws, our
social sandcastles: this caliber of persons, while too appropriate to fit in,
while too stiff to voyage upon those fantasies: our minds with visions, our knowhow
lacking, plus, we can’t escape ourselves….
…to preach this sermon, to surgeon this wound, or to socialize while
retreating: this cruel reality, those few to distressors, or personalities
existing as anti-engagement: our levels too stressed, our minds upon certain
jargon, to relax according to language: our souls revolting, As it must look like me, and it must possess
similar screams: this feel good sensitivity, while feelings are dictating,
where they ought by instructions:
this radical thunder, this terrorizing hunger, at seconds to peer too deeply
into self : this tendency in humans, at dehumanization, or running so long we
become desensitized: this raging universe, those tragic dreams, this tragic
inner understanding: at harsh catastrophes, or reading frantically, or relaxed
peering into mazelike profanities: as
secular souls, at inner scriptures, accustomed to culling out goodness: this
painful space, for lights are regenerated, in order to manage faith….
