Wednesday, May 1, 2019

Sundew Persuasion


…we sleep those nights, such thin aromas, watering cactus brains: we review loses, count our insecurities, and lily our garden: so winnowed, so cautious, while leaping towards jingles: our familiar deserts, our cozy sorrows, while admonishing guilt: to dance swiftly, to run gallantly, or to sit distressed where foxes cry: those spaces, Love, at muddy waters, Love, accustomed to something irregular, Love….

…something by goodness, may box us in, where contradiction ensues: this island of pebbles, this cross-like trail, while we carry our crucifixions: our tissues moaning, our lights dimly, our souls approaching numen….

…we live illusions, walking grayly, becoming mirrored mirages: wrestling dreams, this intangible portrait, daily at journals: those waves churning, our desires aflame, our indecisions becoming solid action: if but so steady, our Moralist Cage, so rich, so filthy, so distraught: searching tree rings, counting centuries, while saddened by history: our days to books, this world of fantasy, those imaginary sources: so stately, so encapsulated, where fiction seeps into chases: our reality unnoticed, our interior museum afire, projecting wishes, delusions, and paranoia….

It was hell, Love: centipede venom, poisonous grass, where lies knitted obsession…this unlikely pleat, our unlikely gaze, where every second was filled with sap: our minds aloof, our bodies insatiable, where many call it something euphemistic: to assume normality, with everyone watching, where a secret is kept, and one is devoid of why everyone is laughing: it disturbs by souls, it divests signals of purity, where in reality we live an opened life: such magic in flesh, to assume cleanliness, where something may be quite contagious: this land of throwaways; this tail of betrayal; while it becomes normal to do as one has been taught: whereby, this thing called, Norms, this cavalier suggestion, this adamant wall, whereby, deviation, therefrom, becomes something to eschew: for it isn’t us, so it must be them, for we possess, The Formula: this mental necessity, this clanging clangor, wherein, souls are given an exit: this, otherwise, cruel existence, our pride away to college, our careers too cemented, and passion needs its medicine: feelings unto road beetles, while searching stingray venom, or emotion built in gila monsters: such roaring sentiments, like England is Africa, or Greece as America’s pivot: those lower devices, our systematic homes, while so for unity, battle, and scar: this former ally, this crazed insanity, where Norms become irrational: as one dies, another flourishes, despising something human, while advertising religion: one vigils closely, one dies a smidgen, like algae to faith.

…be with closure, find time to rest, moreover, find space to evolve: our world has replicas, find authenticity, but even replicas possess nuance: sing in silence, like souls to dreams, or better, like eyes to promise: this land of perfection, with such disarray, so dissonant, both musical and unmusical: where years are minutes, so invested, so shocked, so thrown asunder: our parts to skies, our cadence fluctuating, our hopes challenged by those we esteem: at something mental, as perceived as something actual, whereat, we act upon something fantastical: this web of likeness, if but to see our reflection, where friends act in one accord: this valley of magnets, this need for clarity, where we discover those activities we wish to endorse: be free to rebuttal, like earth to rain, where it returns: this clip on captions, this movie losing gravity, while witnesses know from country-yard to city gates….

Worn Senses

    Let the gift be faith. Many at war. We emphasize it. Many ask, why? How it feels to own promise. A man chides his understanding, realizi...