…unleash
a gentle fire, this living life, rereading Teresa, or reconfirmed: unleash a
monster, this interior avoidance, at darker days, at mental exterior: a rolling
pen, pushing energy, sewn into something troublesome: such captive nights, at
ink circuits, at paper knowledge: restudied, reevaluated, so
uncomfortable—peering into secret webs: so benighted, so blackened, at thought
to verse and running: this sitting stillness, this sanctum dungeon, where minds
move currencies: unbreakable lies, building into cities, a gown, those flowers,
this need: so pagan, so rebuked, wondering concerning our worship: such lyre
love, such locked lotuses, at lotic levity: too beautiful, but a man’s
affliction, but a man’s dynasty: so hectic, so hexed, so happy: such penchants,
unholy passion, at years so devastated: at treble hearts, so impatient, albeit,
received aggression: toxic undercurrents, rebuked kisses, while falling for
failing and favored: so dense, so clouded, so reversed: our broken skies, those
bleeding spheres, while God has arisen: so many dying, such irresistible
sylphs, at tiles and tears and muddy terrors: if but to imagine, this life
those cares, while mornings are filled with hangovers: unboxed toil, fragrant
feelings, at freshwater menticide: unwet but moist, unwept but dying, trying
but desperately to maintain upkeep: too floored for silence, unleashed and
ruined, so piously a sinner: such a subtle secret, as it can never be taken,
where humans think, rethink, and manipulate Jesus: such interior confliction,
but bad children are adored, and good children are expected to maintain their
course: so many qualms, such deep violence, too pushy, too pregnant, or too
palatial: so nauseated, rethought to perish, or reluctant to perish, while
something playful hurts: to quell a feeling, to quench death, at quarantines,
pressures, indebted, but resolved….
…unleash
a gentle fire, dwell that space, unlock and destroy something inveterate: so
odd to say, this interior demolition, so feared, so fragrant, such fire to
marrow: our hectic forgiveness, our hounds barking, our series in dungeons: so
buried in libraries, so determined as doctors, or thrown to piles heaped in
destruction: our wars internal, our bars upon religiosity, our wayward and
laughing kids: at play those years, at pains yesternight, while skin has
tangled with souls: alive but waning, or giggling unto realization, where
nothing was quite funnier: scudding and flitting, wafting and crumbling, or too
mystic to grip reality: this cave-life, this miracle to speak, while too human
to resist: our needs, this space, while challenging clockwise beliefs: so
tortured, so gorgeous, while immortalized: to have fire, embodied in humans,
while reality is losing its meaning: mystic solvents, palatial fantasies, while
most mystics are silent: our black skies, our dark red moons, our wants wrapped
in our disgusts: at seas blurry, listening to winds, or harmonica voices:
melodic thunder, at warning cries, but too inflated to escape….
…unleash
a monster, restudy our building, where monsters are trained: such softer
forgiveness, while needing our whistles, as time would whisk into phantasms:
our curated spirits, our drilled mentalities, where life was prone to resist:
our dreary good days, our biblical lessons, our utter passion for authority: as
revised creatures, permitting a little closure, if but a favorable outcome: at
space-phones, or gut-dust, at needs to replace a brain-lamp: so furious with
aguish, at desires to flee, but Time is chasing: our warring frenzies, our
survival by fittest, and suggesting casualties: this inner cathedral, this
walking voiceprint, at something too remarkable to ingest: our pottery guts,
those sky-photos, removed, restudied, and raging over a second glance: such dry
water, and such wet dryness, at something so close to midnight: lava and soil,
dinosaurs and brains, while he wanted with agonies to become normal….
