…at
graves in you, decided as resurrection, rereading Revelation: apocalyptic
rites, casual assassination, at deep recurrent motifs: so soprano, so allergenic,
while addicted to Ms. Everything: rippling agony, gut-tender abuse, at loses
feeling bothered: mistaken silence, misspoken aliveness, so uncured, so
removed: feeling blackness, accursed as mulatto, but never you worry: this
interior person, this calculating horizon, those bold discoveries: at trillion
dollar courage, at deep self-worth, while affected by this human condition:
re-streaming, letting life live, accustomed to a few predictions: awaited to
perish, where Love is good, but haunted by interior proclivities: our souls,
Friend, our minds, Gin, at something dying, Wind: a bit empty this moment, a
bit chasing this moment, as an image parades our guts: seeing, Love; rebuked
and adored by Love; while interested in an upcoming memoir by Love: rereading
sentiments, looking into behaviors, while convinced we’ve never met: those
doors, those running hallways, those elongated vestibules: at rehab tension,
feeling low, abused by feathers: this light heart, this dark beginning, at so
many years: to enter emotion, sudden an empire, reviewing something critical:
this uneasy pinch, this wretched insistence, or those immature gazes: so
concerned with physicality, or too drawn to analyses, while each suffers an
imbalance: this package deal, those deal breakers, our aches lording over our
intelligence: such resistance, while a thought appears, so selective with
instruction: our paradise dreams, our eclectic screams, at something seeming imperfect:
if but to adore you, if but to pursue you, where one must forsake every living
acorn: indeed, a bit much to insist, a bit much to adore, while promises become
elementary….
It was
existence, sitting and longing, settled in mystic space: those aircrafts, this
helicopter, or Elijah’s thoughts: at Zephaniah a tour, at Habakkuk a journey,
while a mere shepherd with Amos: so dreary right now, so fueled right now, as
words drop eyes water: while holding back, filled with sensation, but low a
quarter beneath its chamber: a parking meter, a select time, a designated
return: so controlled, so concerned, where a swan is want for electricity: a
mother watching, maybe receiving, or maybe hectic an art: so tortured by
mother, so alive in mother, so indebted to mother: this fueled machine, this
delicate monster, at heart and soul and groceries: to sing forever, late night
Apollo, where comedians dance and hide tremendous agony: so at Love those days,
as crazed a lieutenant, strapped for under pressure: to negotiate, to cry
perfections, to embrace unreliability: this invisible ceiling, this melting
mentality, as coming to life this very second: thinking to psychs, feeling
associated, but longing for more wisdom: meeting mentors, laughing with
naivety, so charged, so ecstatic, while back those first sessions: our scales
moving, our numbers depicting, our astrology a bit in alignment: a lost friend,
a lost lover, where two became confidants: this cryptic life, this intense
cycle, while souls are searching for comfort.
…so
ghostly, so haunted, refiguring statistics: so pregnant, so ready, so furious:
gifted there, selective here, looking at life quite seriously: a major
elephant, right in our chambers, as we walk a different direction: so pushed
here, so delicate an art there, while remembering our ghettoes: a bit to panic,
a bit to contention, a bit to reserved beauty: as words are measured, as souls
are measured, where measurements fail to insist: seated in spirit, realizing a
yogi, where mystics are flaming: this blurred line, this cultic shaman, at an old
talisman: our kleptic arcs, our revised daughters, our casual mothers: as split
in differences, as torn by never, at something killing solar guts: celestial
eyes, celestial pain, conjuring Catherine: our minds, Swan, our beliefs, Swan,
as life appears so regular, Swan….
