…a
bit sluggish, wondering to whom to speak, while tender this candle; those
thumps with ousia, particles probing psyches, our deafness but a sound;
often at a thought, concerned with deliverance, chanced as a repulsive
creature; churning by conflict, a radiant countenance, even an irritating
countenance; while said something silently, substantial resentments, wrested or
wiggling or wretched; such soft music, our mystic harps, our divine mandolins;
but curious to hear you, curious to feel your words, so curious to see you
before an audience; this stage of talents, this revving pressure, beneath our
strobe-lights; principle frustration, teaching while instructed, or plagued
something horribly; this friendly feature, dearly ostracized, while rooms are
filled with closets; this whispering desk, this window that damn light, those
fingers typing our reports; our disdain, our attraction, or asexual goddesses;
brief evaluations, or years by realizations, or cut in slices piecemealing
multiple hunches; as not for lightness, this design by phantoms, for a number
of years determines a few good reasons; however, a thought, while peering into
planets, so devastated by private realities; our grandparents, so far that
zone, while a sweet, undifferentiated voice is comforting; our wrenching
criticism, our debates controlling us, or feathers growing wildernesses; seeing
our cries, repaving our nightmares, while concerned something over-there
possesses a pure insight; where a mystic looks for stainless experience, or
colorful walls, while an old professor is speaking in German; or crossed with
temperament, expected to respond, where mother is seated a chair nearby; our
fathers a bit resilient, our aunties too far to dial, plus, one has become
indoctrinated by something solitary; this two seater, this invisible ottoman,
or this reminder that this is a center; looking at spirits, sensing something
unstable, where something demonized spoke with tremors….
…so
in there, with plus a bible, etching over Numbers; so possessed, a spirit
awoke, seated in facial muscles…. I met her while featured, such immediate
recognition, “But he’s a good one”; this bipolar twinge, this internal
evaluation, or this linkage into something extraterrestrial. I saw characters,
while seasick, I saw a chain with links and small boxes; it ran in size, it
leaped a long distance, I was purely tribal; this deepness into souls, this
universe beneath civilization, while we’re unaware of what we see; such biblic
intensity, such scribbly lines, or partial to something interior; to examine
Jesus, this sheer response, while we’re uncertain about such ferver; this land
of resumes, this elusive title, where some reenact such violence; but it became
evident, this foe/friend, this intruder—this investigator; our fancies settle,
our dreams become insanity, our knowledge-dome becomes insatiable—at too many
funerals, at too many loses, plus, not too concerned with looking normal;
however, an effervescence wafts, a mist emanates, where a man barely raised his
right arm; or hours at prayer, where Love came home, looked, studied, and shed
tears; but days are different, I need not such insistence, where a certain confidence
emits….
…something
beckons, this underground universe, this kinetic magazine; so close to its
door, peeking inside, where it lashed-out; I closed it quickly, standing in
amazement, nudged to look once more; it seemed inviting, awe and tremors,
brilliant yellow lightening; but days were different, in this chemistry by
brains, or something so unexpected we decide to retreat; but where comes time,
from what scorpion afar, where a man sees he has entered; too visceral to
disenchant, too extraterrestrial to define away, but too farfetched to disclose
to others; our mornings calling life, God, our college years cultivating
doubts, or our realities becoming terribly mystic; but something beckons, to intrigue
this portal, while linked to postulates….
