…back
at silence, a soft hymn, a northern wind: sunshine eyes, encased in daylight,
too young to validate disturbance: but thunder reigns, where souls awaken,
searching to listen more: those moving realities, this teenage privilege, while
so wild at intervals: tugged or shoved, looking at miracles, or rereading
telegraphs: our minds knitting, our hearts as octopus, so threaded with
silence: while feelings mean so little, for something impedes feelings, where
taciturn swans are appreciated more: our rehearsed lines, our crocheted
appearance, our neat, sullen, and melancholic responses: adored this way, while
bottles are spinning, where ships are sailing—those laughable signs, this
laughable earth, those laughable curses: to regret science, to hate logic,
while so afraid to annihilate either: at recess portals, coloring softly, or
painting something in acrylics: those gunning emotions, these interior
parakeets, over pictures, over promises: redeemed but nauseous, felt but
unseen, at reason sensing a disjunct:
to need by promise, to demand by promise, plus, an occasional, affectionate
hug….
I
was young, or indestructible, or promised delusion: those old fields, those old
chants, plus, our forest bible: able to sing, or fret discipleship, or losing
so much, it’s good to fly: at terrible junctures, or laughing with sin, at
freedom debating my part: inductive logic, indicative a storm, at incredible
feelings: as thought a clown, underestimating venom, while faced with something
little by regards: an itchy scalp, plus, dry skin, otherwise, mainly sad—for
Love is serenaded, and Love can’t respond, and Love is feeling ambivalent: this
aged old curse, our vague complexion, our wonderful complexion: but seeking
identity, to come so close, while thrust’d by opposing forces: as sung a silent
flag, those bars for America, while America has forsaken’d its peoples: but
sense and know, this dreary father, this man, aged and determined: but what is
better, to learn quickly, working through mazes, or lost as a permanent victim:
indeed, stuff happens, it’s in part to life, where music becomes animated
liquor: flickering gnats, straining at flies, gripped for nudging our opinions:
so little justification, while partners parade, indebted to total silence: hither,
our arts, our families, our rethought diaries.
…gather
skills, Love; adore determination with wit; and live a bit observantly: such
quietude, such vicissitude, at points, a tear harsh and rectitude: to realize a
glance, to chance an altercation, where two are shooting this old game: at
invaded space, at trespass and glory, so soft by music and scars: gather coping
devises, invest in teleology, and pick about three philosophies to align your
vocabulary: become a trillion dollar machine, or a zillion dollar encyclopedia,
at stories for months: discover antidotes, rehash anecdotes, and spin yarn with
small kittens: feed your siblings, demand attention span, and listen to audio
books: rewrite sayings, listen to heart-medicine, recite an old proverb:
memorize a psalm or two, gauge your opponents, and give assistance to
differences: for many are lost, our goals at life, while many truths are a bit
harsh: but life is you, this rosy patch of eagles, our wings spread in
attention: so exist with passion, laugh for crying where insistence feels good,
and watch new, strange feelings….
I hear the blues, and
I’m tired of sipping, and rivers have grown dry: poetic dynasties, to resist
this emotion, where reality is beating our backs: such force and chaos, such
blatant disrespect, while one grows bold in affection: our soldier minds, our
first instructions, our core beliefs: watching melodies, fretted for restored,
at God some sort of secret: so many analyzing, so many watching, so many hoping
for goodness: our jazzy realities, our minds wondering, our souls jetting to
some remote island.
