I
drew our line, I crossed a nightmare, our frequent consequences: at something
cautious, or something mystic, so charged but sad: such irregular habits, at
irregular dreams, so stigmatized, so
regular: those internal bridges, where shadows churn, where face-to-mirror
becomes overwhelming: our wolverine, sexual, and chaotic rhythms—chasing planets,
erasing embarrassments, sewn into sky-fabrics: as inverted creatures, prone
towards admiration, wrestling exospheric charismas: tugged by frequencies,
thrust’d into windstorm, held captive by screams: such violent beauty, at flux
with deaths, so reborn pictured by indecision: our mythic realm, such critical
beliefs, where faith becomes a living component: our maxims, so tested through
hives, where something easy ruins our future. …those skeleton signals, this postal
air-fire, this necklace of water: as flowing earnestly, disguised by
discernment, so casual, so critical, or such crystal esotericism: those wooden
idols, such havoc with notice, so stunted through such growth: those chosen,
selected, even harbored few: our motives, our motivations, our misdirection: at
diary suggestions, at journaling college, while pulled by incredible nonsense:
our minds so cryptic, to realize disaster, while meditating solution: but fire
flew, and flame freed, while favorites fled: this old enterprise, comprised of
grandparents, while some are plain terrified: those horror eyes, those weedy,
tumble-dry, exaggerated excuses: to locate something worthy, but so far those
habits, while warring this thought filled self: as under-qualified, but so
terribly such need, if but to become this perfect choice: our chaotic
revelries, so tamed by repeated behavior, while something inward is plain
disgusted: rereading our dreams, untold by fertilized caves, so rich, so hurt,
and rereading….
…it
was excellence, this sudden millennia, those cryptic undertows: reviewing
political art, musing upon Frida, at glass feeling secluded: as unseen, or
barely mentioned, looking conspicuous: metal and mental and manic episodes: frequent
consequences, restructured lies, those that build as one speaks: this major
prep-school, this deep resentment, for suspicion makes for a difficult memory:
believing in fairytales, revising a partial sentence, or plain angry—those
tragic affairs, this tragic momentum, gripping for life something slipping into
darkness: such accidents, as akin to fate, where realization becomes
frightening: broken sentiments, or rebuilt pash, while serious concerning
fidelity: able to speak again, able to causality again, or struck for structure
but a bit wild: such innocent perusals, looking into excellence, rereading one
striving for arête: those tiny feet, those small hands, those aesthetic arms:
but life is long breaths, painting perceptions, and panting gracefully….
…something
softer, by chantress liturgy, an earshot from consensus: this troublesome lot,
this field stadium, or rehashing old beliefs: so kindhearted, or running from
anger, where such niceness is unsteadying: to know about senses, to realize
hypersensitivity, makes one a bit deliberate and responsible: we can’t agree,
but this is nature, a bit too civilized to contend: so crafted with lights, so
grounded in reality, our carpets replaced by cobble floors: as aching souls, so
thrust’d into regions, while haunted by fortune and retribution: a short drag,
those wiring symbols, or thoughts generating telepathy: a sighted vision, an
old reality, or something new that can’t desist: indeed, with suspicion, over
every entrée, where one partakes of something delectable: those trenchant
fallacies, while making claims, while committing fallacies: this power in
belief, as opposed to authority, where we slip into occasions: so familiar with
behavior, so at war with patterns, while something familiar stirs controversy….
