…but
a miracle, streaming Artemis, afflicted, mindful, at intuition stuff: ten miles
to freedom, such peril and pits, such patience and cartoons: road runners,
rabbits and ducks, a beak spinning: so crazed with passion, so suppressed by
passion, while flashbacks at screams an artist by tyranny: remembering
ignorance, seated with gremlins, at bias conversation: to need insecurity, to
jog intelligence, or plain disregard: this crucial claim, but worlds are
churning, and grays are becoming vivid: so tendentious, this vest of pearls,
where mirrors ask questions: deep reflection, spent riches, while subject to
ground zero: at Athena giggling, something soft-hearted, while Love is
remorseful: for days are zillions, and nights are billions, while pillows talk
repression: so extravagant, so precious, so disgusted: while needing souls, if
but to sail, while said souls are preoccupied: but a miracle, where life is
dramatic, or boring, or fabricated: getting closer, needing freedom, but
freedom is aloneness: so bellicose, nearly trapped, plus, people are not
caring: to live with platitudes, to become platitudes, while needed for
vices—but reneging on deliveries: to hate with passion, to fight with passion,
to need affection: such torn deliverance, such shadowed dilemma, while touched,
satiated, and feeling resentments for self: such wonderful blindness, such
sweet music, where Love agonizes to fix problems: something askew, something
shunned, while begging for one last tryst: at beige magic, or mystic ostracism,
so cool over there: at granny this morning, at father this evening, at mother
for mother sits his brains: those long discussions, while infuriated, to
realize this smaze by language: to get closer, if closer is possible, dealing
with intractable, but outspoken, silence: those few intrigues, to realize a
human, while needing a particular goddess: even further, this need for
perfection, while dreams come hurdling over fires: a torn machine, a graphic
animal, while true love accepts dreams….
…but
a miracle, stationed in membranes, where happenings come but once: so throttled
with time, a familiar stranger, while angered your position for their kind:
sensitive language, refurbished beliefs, adrift insanity too close to pillows:
at something deeper, to need their failures, in order to praise our
predicaments: pointing batons, or feeling existence, so sweet a human but
radically at realness: those boxes chuckling, those cedarchests whispering, while
Love entered into confetti: those mixed pieces, this mixed personality, to
listen while churning guts: our bodies stiff, our drinks warm, at friends and
lives and curses: negotiating with mirrors, asking for deliverance, so lost so
pained while throttling perceptions: at facial concerns, at life a secret,
while needing understanding: (if must I behave, I might receive, for kindness
is up for auction): a particular temperament, debated by audiences, while well
received, we must perform: indeed, so far away from Jesus, while so sparked by
Jesus, where we separate goats from sheep: at loopholes, at back doors, while
seated at God’s table: but life is itself, and dynamite is ever near, where we
shouldn’t expect much: a dreary kite, an outdated talisman, even a rebuked
notion: flaring through troubles, realizing disposition, where Love and I are
exact strangers: pushed for moved, bottled for sailing, at ships and sharks and
dolphins: a particular letter, a grievance manuscript, so purple with passion,
too exact with demands, while something is lost: those cue cards, those
intimate insistencies, while actuality resists closeness…indeed, a failing platform,
our wrecking balls, while upon an edifice with little stamina: to sing
antipathies, to expect full deference, while feeding our masses vinegar: it
shifts at moments, but ever a chasm, looking for searching out a distant moon:
stormy highlights, threshing dynamics, plus, little for reciprocity—while
pregnant with demands: this tale for souls, while knowledge is power, knowledge
is ever a warzone….
