…as
timeless souls, our tacit vocality, stressed, demonized, and cultured by
injustice: if but flowery scents, or oils by Trauma, delving closer to our subconscious: phones ringing, souls
taking messages, our secretarial spirits typing: afar and esteemed, bubbly and
submissive, but a kingdom to few: those better lives, by amateur riches, while
naked creating art: those public squares, those unrealized humans, our poverty
orphans: so much running, so much silence, so much restriction: city agoutis,
sawdust wishes, plus, one softer whisper: raging upheavals, or signature
sorrows, so invisible to our closest family: amore was trapped, amore was
gunning, and amore was tired: Become for
me, exist in us, permit sacrifice or even deaths to exist: argent ink,
decorated appeals, aesthetic legacies: smoky language, throaty lungs, raspy
attraction: so sick in us, lecture and vomit, even heaving intestines: a dry
fever, a flustered sun: so futuristic, so deliberate with lights, so cursed and
innocent: those Picasso paintings, our fresco temples, our resurrected Gospels:
at tears for Love, as meant this embarrassment, as designed those guillotines:
our captured personas, those aurous skies, abandoned to adoring Love: our last
repair, running into hostility, our classism, our restrained voices,
celebrating tragedy: courting mind, matrix, and martyrdom: reliving ecstasy,
reviving intimacy, too discovered, thus, vulnerable, and so unedited: those
earlier vibrations, those in-wall trysts, at an enclosed and smothering closet:
our deepest deceits, our repelled absences, so macro-managed, so accustomed to
dying, and crocheted by Affliction: while never re-imagined, while never
unachieved, at eyes clearly, but devastated by troops: this land of
destruction, captured in Da Vinci’s screams, accursed for privilege….
…spirits
are filming, silence is required, but screeches and shrills penetrate
unconscious souls: such helium is privacies, even failed interrogation, as time
envelopes space: giving Eternity, receiving Immortality, rewritten in over a
trillion minds: so indebted to comforts, so endangered for hanging, but so
destined to possess every art: rebuilding castles, or reframing articles,
astute and gifted jotting down a dozen lines: those poet funerals, those
suspicious kings, our children raised by other souls: our first departure,
galloping through forests, so determined to find our artifacts: astray and
abandoned, left lonely and destitute, so prudent, but so effected, or abased
and craving: at court jesters, such a detrimental career, while glancing for
watching and listening closely: this travail by wits, this travesty of
uneasiness, while to win might mean death: but our longing closet, those darker
shadows, this whole three feet our calamity: so troubled, so abashed, or proud
to have broken static: romance so decadent, horderves so rotten, our destiny
sent across seas: at more to battle, at war to die, while behaviors seem
ordinary….
