…we
measure futures, a bit concerned, and jarred by adolescence: this fluffy
creature, snug and captured, our minds exploring wilderness: to furnish our
forests, a credenza with plums, a cadenza by echoes: our souls mumbling, at
straights to listen, where time becomes a blur: this blurry entity, those achy
limbs, our heart-tangibility: as loving souls, or angered souls, while
forgetting something essential: our brain-markets, our riches needs, if but to
function in a hostile world: those pictures we paint, in our segments by
lights, while moved by sentiments: a raving movie, or newborn puppies, or tiny
freshwater gaiters: this apt resistance, attempting to sing, where deserts have
crowded with seaweed: this waterless, plush land, this oasis sideways, our
aches forming dinosaurs—if but to perish, a tad bit, where sensibilities become
numbing: this jaded disposition, this problem with father, this love of
something inconsistent: that solemn sign, while we desire consistencies, if but
to relax our interior systematic(s): as reliant friends, as opposed to flighty
souls, where one’s words are polished by sincerity: if but this luxury, as
opposed to finding wounds, while apologies run dry after so many years: but
this is life, our daily hundreds, in deep confliction with St. Paul: and this
is Passion, to relive our kindness,
attempting to maintain a calming status: this interior strata, our interior
suggestions, while fueled for threshed asunder: at cryptic eyes, laughing at
cultic replies, where so many words have been digested: this reader’s posts, those rebuked letters, or this silent dedication to make things better...our young
existence, our wireless emotion, where time has flooded dreams….
…our
courageous souls, fraught by insights, while learning to operate by Wisdom: this delicate Insister, our Kindler of miracles, our aches becoming energies: so young this
glimpse, as something receptive to itself, where reality strikes a nerve: plus,
by shadows, this benighted element, at trenchant epiphanies: thereat, this
inner opponent, this inner proponent, this agitator and comforter: our building
blocks, in need of sanding, if but to erase another person’s dreams: this achy
island, this penchant for love, where individuality spells alienation: this
demand for thoughts, this similar volcano, this homogenous requirement: except
for simple things, like a glass of juice, where big picture items are
predetermined: (I speak as infants, I deny total blame, and I feel it’s
important for us to determine our parts): but that’s small matters, while I
encourage a soul to fly, where college is a major intervention: to learn about
morals and ethics, to study something written by Logicians, or to find comfort
in something life altering: those useable snippets, to add to your puzzle, if
but to sing acapella—if but to orchestra a symphony, if but to write an opus,
if but to dance where our sun resides: our palatial arcs, those palatial
hearts, while digging for pitted struggling towards individuality: this space
of screams, this political wilderness, or this deliverer of souls—to drift
silently, as power resides in character, with much to make ado about: our
neuro-toxins, our brains fed snails, where something became a ghost….
I’ll
give it years—this explosive mandate, where something nudges our guts: this
irritable essence, this deep resistance, those explosive sparks—as mere a
countenance, or mere a glow, or mere a feeling: this all encompassing revival,
those mental mirrors, this sudden clash with illogical positions: as something
determined, or something ventured, where loyalties are hard to come by: our
revealing selves, our habitual insistence, or one for another down this line:
to appear by song, or to dwell by movies, where an instance longs for closure:
this laugh about town, those deep fixtures, this clown raiding sentiments—where
Love is an angel, or a mischievous pantomime, or a courageous adventurer.
