…we
skirt such language, spent with motives, attempting such perfection: this God
carriage, this God crib, our grandparents shooting sky-born emotion: at casual
undercurrents, spaced for deranged, looking into telescopes: our peace
dependent—upon something inward, while something whispers: at high rises,
peeking at divinity, our roots needled by ants: our itchy philosophies, our
itchy epistemic, as arranged by something concrete: at abstracts—to explain
existence, while fiddling leaf veins: such dusty fruit, such dusky, brown
horizons, while kneeling through crises: as a last resort, our hearts thumping
fires, to instinctively radiate communication: at energy waves, or dungeon
escapes, realizing something’s demonic about liquor…. …we hold a feeling, walking indoors, or
sprinting a canyon: to arrive at an instant, our spirits splayed, our dreams as
if puzzles pieced upon carpets: our tiles teal prayers, our cabinets jasper
prayers, our souls sensitive to dialogue: with soundless water, something’s in
motion, to tug where souls murmur: if but to live, so wide awake, our minds too
heavy: to extract paragraphs, our novella skies, at an insistent reality: but
pure conflict, to explain beyond science, to exude a caricature: while senses
blend, where ‘transmitters are haywire, while we familiarize a certain
resonance: our inward huts, alive for rapture, while over-concerns become gray
existence: if but to resist, or but to unlock, while something has unlatched….
…either
a curse or blessing, or both singing, where reality becomes abstracts: to
befuddle science or working in alignment, therewith, to realize eighty percent
is operating: our flustered wings, our flustered hearts, to inquire about this
thing in brains: such windy discretion, such awakened treasuries, or such by
luggage or iron stitching: to drift casually, or a bit excited, or filled but
lowly: to enter that space, needing something foreign, but aloof to seeming
foolish: those remarkable claims, those remarkable experiences, those
remarkable colors: a bit hoarse, those nightmare, internals, at loudness, or so
silent our noise has become lethal: to spin rapidly, to awaken in feelings, as
if communication has taken place….
…we
arouse sentiments, or someone close afire(s), while converse is
subterranean—those whirl flames, this sentient exosphere, at something so close
to esoteria: our knowledge-base, so dependently independent, where some are able
to describe inner functions: to manipulate ‘transmitters, to cause sunshine to
rain, while seated so closely but lost about motion: this tacit occurrence,
those unspoken fires, while rarely too far to aid—at deep silence, feeling
somewhat odd, while at strengths concerning purpose: this small network, this
remarkable enterprise, or souls so captured our skies are rainbow iridescence:
at opaque matter, for something has transpired, where proactive participants
are manipulating chemistry: at human doubts, needing an explanation, as opposed
to a routine: where ritual is glorious, but what for mechanics, or better, what
for this lone Force: to spacial through time, to happen upon trancelike adventure,
where reality was tugged in order to prevent tyranny: at private motives, this
wealth in souls, while cultivated by something beneath our surface: those
incredible hunches, this air secret, while alone creating something collective:
those rites aloud, this cauldron of invisibility, to actualize by peak
experiences: such abstract practices, but real to its observer, while methods
might fail scientific inquiry: such motionless movement, such apostolic minds,
or this voyage down charismatic shores: as needing confidentiality, or a
vetting mentality, where something has worked for so long: those doubts more to
station, or one exulting reflection, while something seems to operate
dependently….
