…those
mild thoughts, conditioned by experience, alongside existence: our hushed
thoughts, at pure concentration, filmed by silent mirrors: to meet resistance,
examining our hearts, or wheezing from indifference: at battles within, or
seated quietly, our souls squeaking for revelation: as mere eloquence, disputes
behaviors, while with reaching embarrassment….
…we
exist in pieces, our selves scattered, our wholeness found at seconds: this
complete feeling, while entering public life, while tugged by inquisition: our
rounded personalities or something pushing our surfaces, where lights seem
fragmented: (this beautiful existence, this ugly existence, such paradox
scraping inner seasons): to run while seated, to meditate why abandoned, where
life seems inappropriate: but days are vacillating, while mundane airs are
pushing, our souls daring to seek excitement: those smaller spirits, offering
pudding with joy, where something requires something else: those fires by
lights, those lights by thunder, while aching for something tropical: such
senseless tides, or radical times, where thoughts resort to adolescence: that
story, therein, those adult trials, or something by comfort we can’t escape
towards: at baffling cries, or harmonica reasoning, plus, preparing for our
love one’s departure….
I
find resistance, in this pool of profanity, as not by language: but secular
existence, a bit too evolved for religious existence, while realizing this
world of philosophies: our wants for power, our desires to rule, at pace to
realize our qualifications: at tyrannical displays, or deep insensitivities, or
so nice others are taking advantage: our midbrain agendas, our sundown wars,
our jackets stressed needing adjustments: that raspy conversation, that raspy
voice, our fangs on edge: to speak equality, to speak religion, while removed
from both: or alienation, cornered by thought-flies, while wafting through
smog: that foggy atmosphere, those foggy lamps, or those silent pictures: our
deep perception, as dearly our frontier, while needing absolute science.
I
paused, lit a cigar, and examined this existence: our running manna, our
cautious diamonds, our sappy flowers: our mental contour, that intricate aura,
or those crazed ideas: at furious ideals, or laid in corners, while attempting
public gatherings: our silk realities, our silken (winter) sheets, our textures
a bit cultivated: at fiction for comfort, at literary giants, our dreams
concerning our endeavors: to gain renown, to fly high with eagles, to wrestle
celebrity: this misfit by souls, this nail to our coffins, or this exhilarating
creature: (at something gorgeous, at something fruitful, but too possessed to
maintain passion): our mother’s lockets, our father’s resilience, at war with
temperaments: our moments with peace, to shrug and move forward, while
pinpointing screams.
We ought to live, this ha-ha existence, this casual profession: our cluttered desks, our
cluttered souls, to sense something deadly and impetuous: but desiring its
essence, desiring pure elation, while something dangerous has appeal: this
thing with feelings, this purpose with strife, those moving particles: our
brains with mercy, our hearts with fire, our concerns with reaching elder-hood:
those old chances, those old memories, and our reliable souls: as giving for
love, while out-casting love, where love has become first companion: our rifled
souls, singing our silent address, while nudging our existential eyes: at
concerns with knowledge, a bit skeptical needing familiarity, while promising
upon matters requiring more evidence: but sanity is clear, this essence of
redemption, that is, we must accept some things at face value: if but to
function, instead of living mathematics, where every number is perfect.
