…our
tides are rolling, three thousand for one, so crucial, so cultic: to reread
bibles, to censure science, this internal lying: at sliced shivers, a bolt to
thunder, alive somewhere staring at robotics: as men frying, or women flying,
so gently to believe otherwise: at core perceptions, laughing a tender second,
where methodology plays its trumpet: our guts soaring, our minds racing, our
mothers discontent: for papa left, and papa’s deaf, where miracles slowly
suffocate: to demand allegiance, to settle for dying tentatively, where swans
need an entire ocean: this radical space, but only for return, to cuddle with
mother: our blood blue scars, our veins at alimony, while country songs sound
similar…. I adore cadence, I worship
vibration, as Jesus is prone to visit: this take on reality, this silence
denoted, where we realize choices: those chasms, stringent to beliefs, while
angry souls destroy their mirrors: our interior screwdrivers, our mental
scissors, while aflame a nightmare: to die in us, to resurface in us, or
reaching so deeply as to awaken a hopeless purgatory: this vest of
phantoms, this room of ghosts, at phantasmagorias: those infant insights, about
forward a psych, where scientists spread levity: if but to perish, searching this swan, while actuality
is backing corners: our angry remorse, our dalliance with wolves, as but
excited while love is fluent: this place in memories, this special suggestion,
where it felt death to feel heaven. I
ache by silence, this office room, and nary a word: but Love is seated, and
Love is agony, and death is tentative: this race for closure, this feeling
inescapable, while needing incorrigible happiness: this fire in ferns, this friendly
fire, as afflux a heartbeat spearing Yahweh: therewith, this timid soul, this
timid voice, to unveil leviathan: as reckless advisors, or therapeutic moons,
at sunshine asking her shame—such tyranny, such swanic smiles, accursed for
breathing: this fair war, this unfair curse, while so indebted life has become
an addict: thitherto, this bubbled personality, this fake distance, this
crucial vine: to need our allotment, to frown at deception, while entertained
enough to partake: at such pegs, this rug filled with blood, our ghosts
dripping ambience…. …our days so
shortened, our nights to gentility, our skies to flying: those rosy cheeks, those
curly bangs, those hazel brown eyes: those limbs running, those arms reciting,
our liturgies in ghettoes: to flush at times, to fear travesties, to embark upon
ship voyage: at tears those seconds, at deep resolution, as built for resurrection:
this small vessel, this large vessel, speaking to something inherent: such blue
black magic, such cutting insights, to imagine such grayness: those raspberry
cries, these red vines, this cup so overflowing our palms are churning…. …our dearest static, this life to
mechanics, our engines rebuilt: these days, at thoughts, but never so
hauntingly: to void on words, to curse upon lights, while thrust for abused:
this fair losing, those fairer winnings, while something develops by nights:
our entitled legacy, robbed by pain, where years churn by disease: at blue
passion, or slaves of madness, where fluid-branches have inverted: such to
cavities, those trenchant enclosures, while telephones have linked interiors:
our beige cyan bowels, this pint of grime, those parents nodding but feeling our
Ghost—at breaks and driven, this redeemed maniac, while many are angry with
words: to die in us, to relive such death, while fair to pavement skies—as lost
and gunning, or afraid and shunning, while Love is watching: such terrific
cadence, such deafening remorse, while some are at ecstasy: at yin for yang, at
Buddhists Literature, if but to connect to us: this man to abnormalities, this
man to honesties, where rewards come so slowly: this narrow gate, this narrow
path, where rewards are first demented: hereupon, this slight admission, we
guide while reaping in degrees: we live—while dead a smidgen, if but to fly
gently: such magic in brains, such tyranny in guts, while true ambition is
geared towards forgiving: for too much suffocates, and garbage accumulates
maggots, where such destroys this gust for breath: hitherto, but a glimpse,
while love permeates an interior phantom….
