Monday, July 8, 2019

American Tulips


I ski silently, at weeping concentration, shadowed, battling, and entering mirrors: becoming ghosts, a purple chill, or smoldering with rain: pleased to have met, or more, pleased to maintain distance: off-centered messages, delightful binoculars, so wild at interior: behaved and gentle, relaxed and resented, raving over cultic stars: while living soundness, or barely composed, with life to loosen: those social nooses, at particular proclivities, while ember churns, and moons skate: so close to oceans, at rainbow cries, and rereading Noah: as quite an index, sensing something elaborate, asked to believe, indebted to Christ: as so inclined, while feeling importance, a person must evaluate science.

We determine meaning, a bit boxed in, while Herculean rites wave through existence: so destined to cross lakes, flogged, distressed, and seeking heaven: phones are ringing, sounds are blurred, and scents are wafting: at minor miracles, or major prophets, feeling kinship: so Latin America, so Australian, where Africa is located in Europe: those American tides, such raving splendor, while Love says, It’s all taboo: walking dirt-roads, pausing at daisies, an orange/camel beige petal: where Love cries magic, and daughters cry mystic, where two are quite embarrassed: rabid voltage, radical islands, so cured, so cursed: at particular anger, a little to succeed, while overly driven: filled by mistakes, or filled by academia, as approaching those inner movies: Sanhedrin mothers, swords to souls, while spirit was split, lit, and given in return: those symbols, to imagine one hour, as so much faith: adrift cashmere rites, or quilted music, inclined to refurbish and perish.

…surprised to see you, looking spacial, while inquiring about wellness: such intuition, gazing deeper, and fiddling mind-strings: so heart with it, so abandoned to it, at ecstasy, rewinding something crucial: at particular crises, while found in legends, so rehearsed, so delicate, and so removed: such inrushing sound, such indelible wounds, where one was examined closely: at teal lyrics, or fuchsia reality, a spell in me!: surprised to see you, at modified melodies, or modified struggles: looking rich, looking abrasive, while interpretation seems to fail: wanting romance, designed by rubber, while bouncing by aura: our index predicament, our Human Condition, at violins and mandolins and quite detectable: an inner officer, an outer orbit, while ten year portraits replay….

…sunlight or soulprints, smoldering or smothered, at silence and sanction: agreeable resistance, outer internals, while anguish is soon inverted: states by anxiety, riddles by phones, while someone reknitted an answering machine: at geese and lemurs, an exotic animal, living on the fifth floor: an interior mantra, an exterior Amazon, while rethinking something near passion: this old secret, this tender reed, where we realize our magnitudes: as disordered creatures, attempting at magic, realized in this: Relationships require miracles: but angst to caution, while rolling deeper, so inclined to make a vow: to swivet and dance, to become elixir, while Love is sipping diamonds: so fused and gunning, such illumination, where souls inquire about secret warfare….  

…so innocent those cries, those inserted days, at something new and exciting: manuscripts bleeding, satire so fluent, cinema becoming an adventure: our inmost fantasies, our rebuilt selves, at destiny, lights, and images: our brains inclined, our bodies following, while Love broke an electric company: such panacea, such rich elixir, at something sober and passionate: those years so vivid, our vows so valued, at tetras, titillation, and towers: roaming and searching, for Love has reappeared, so desperate to locate existence: our seashore prayers, our watchful seagulls, if but to relocate a floating machine: at hydrants guzzling, at interior alacrity, while tugging an anchor: such trumpet parties, for Love has appeared, so romantic, so inclined, dancing mid-Wilshire: at something incredible, this American movie, embedded in Harmony’s Fire: indeed, a portrait made metaphorical, or Songs of Solomon, too dark for insistence, or too light for Love: a bucket of keys, a ladybug kiss, while years strew sentimentality: at rivers but present, at skies but more horizons, at early morning sunrise: so cute with interior, this life exuding, something sanctioned emitting: at candent rites, so knotted by knowledge, so known, so appreciated…!

All are Braving the Future

    If I may tell it, sore disquieted, greeting memories. Such soul-iniquity, grinding through havens, begging those last three dimensions. ...