I
flicked a feeling, aborted to silence, filmed by never-ending motion: I saw an
image, a naked flower, at rivalry cliffs: this station in men, laying flags to
land, our dearest contagion: to fix a problem, perceived by few, where life
becomes abrasions. There’s deep
emotion, house noises, sirens and barking canines: as visions drift, as odors
waft, where deserts secern native curses: those smaller figures, tillage soil, planting
feelings: our cypress, cedar and oak, our guts, brains and fears, while
captured for overwhelmed: those delicate eye-sights, our marvelous overtures,
our paranoid beginnings: this thing in souls, to grip something indelicate,
while hoping to maintain those fires: at baffling heights, encouraged to leap,
where life was distracted by pleasures: our fuel with cheese, our dreams with
violence, our minds soaring!
I
toppled by ear-fuss, those crevices in man, our screams escaping our palms: as
longing creations, our souls to debates, our hearts tugged by lights: those
fairer assortments, our wrangling swords, or bodies tangled in receptive webs:
to retrieve ecstasy, where fantasies become life, while threads motion through
darkness: those contagious flirtations, but life is stuffy, wherefore, daring
men win existence: those impossible feats, laid bare before cosmos, as souls
longing for greater resistance: this furnace in souls, such unkempt furniture,
buffed and established by strangers: at lively lakes, wrestling bears, while
answering leaf-phones: at earth by destiny, at dear sensitive souls, where midday
seems esoteric: those deep perceptions, our battles with time, while fused by
sky-pockets.
…we
met by turmoil, our drastic hearts, our warming souls: we embraced infinity, or
something closer, our mornings a bit chilly: our beating stillness, our mental
atoms, those other signals: as racing through shadows, steeped in mire, but too
addicted to visit rehab: those tales those souls, those thrills our goals,
while so indignant it became unsettling: by foreign hearts, our foreign graves,
where Love brought this measure to light: our furious passion, our furious
endeavor, those furious cliffs—as leaping into arms, while held at bay, where
promise seemed so compelling: this capture in man, this reality in woman, our
bodies requiring oils: if but to sing, aborted to silence, while Love ached for
intervention: those circling voices, our deep enchantments, at terrible
reflections spent by beauty….
I’m
itching for breakthroughs, or common understanding, this thing in man: at
wistful intrigues, while rising through powers, a bit stronger those years: or
numb to life, or channeled by ghosts, or mistaking existence for mere
adventures: that inner harbinger, those wintry skies, or exotic encounters that
meant so little: or foolish cries, absorbed with personal needs, as opposed to
serving community: this selfish man, our selfish reflection, those selfish
clouds—as men born to undertakings, as women guiding intuition, while destiny
becomes a Country for Old Men: at
crucial guidance, this style those entities, where moments would evolve into
wedlock: those insistent creatures, have become resistant creatures, even
career driven skyscrapers: our delicate, indomitable gems, so precious with
intimacy, so ruthless near soul-cliffs.
…within brown tents, or ravishing blues,
we sense a green horizon: those years with beauty, those months with pash, our
nights so embedded: so sluggish and cloudy, so deep within satirical thoughts, or at something purely fantastical: such
mythical miracles, to share with time, those myriad experiences: at flying
coals, or dire passion, while Love was unborn…!
