…fantastic
fantasy, looking into physics, concerned about grayness: those provocative
motions, this attuned interior, so close it separates us: livid cries,
lascivious musings, patient awareness: raja pride, or Bhakti
compassion, where two clash despite enlightenment: so dear to him, such a
human for him, where a stranger is held in disdain: our broken heartbeats, our
drumming skies, as a flute is intimate: our thrumming flies, our strumming
bees, while lemur eyes have become panic: such deeper distrusts, such reaper
dislikes, so angry concerning contortion: our faces with grimaces, according to
thoughts, but never an interior interrogation: but Love is romanticism, or Love
is medieval cadence, at something rummaging intuition: those bolder realities,
this existential salad, or butter to baking intelligence: so cursed for this,
but mother gave me this, while breaking chains desires its newness: that is to
say, to become normal, requires feeling like normalcy, where such brings with
it distressors: plus, we relinquish something dear, something sustaining
existence, in order that something dismissive feels secure: those rites in
animals, our dearer frustrations, where some carry a panther’s instincts: if
but a medium, instead of all or nothing, while this mirror is quite hectic: those
blurry feelings, this blurry wound, at terrible complications: but Love is
pragmaticism, while Love is metaphysical, at clarity when part way into consciousness….
…eating
with regrets, devoid of placation, where something unresolved tickles sanity:
eyebrows twitching, while I ponder, the capital meaning of redemption: by what
palm, or by what destiny, where a soul is truly released: our rules to
existence, our rules by love, while we tolerate the damndest enterprises:
certain comforts, certain capillaries, our aurous magenta binoculars: as
feeling creatures, affronted by thoughts, and tugging into perceptual clenches:
purely disinterested, while disinterest proves interest, where effort is issued
to remain nonchalant: totally into sensories, abashed by a person’s position,
while ashamed of something essential: to need forgiveness, from a uninteresting
figure, while nondisclosure proves one as judgmental: this zero person, where
silence is harmful, or similarities are tormenting: this personal position,
this familiar disinterest, while hearts beat by something deceptive: a knee
jerk statement, with such knee jerk clarity, where one is destined to dislike
this household dejection: our interior categories, our powerful trainings,
while one is too self-absorbed to see us: or our self-absorption, desiring full
recognition, instead of giving this essence we reach for: as unclear mirrors,
destined for uneasiness, where thoughts might be liable: such richer
perception, or strong disapproval, while aside for a statement, nothing is
quite viable….
…wretched
societal statutes, or this self-portrait, while painting and people are walking
by: such architecture, those building blocks, ruminating about outdated
behaviors: so close it’s repugnant, or so far away it’s alluring, while a
mirror might depict our uneasiness: this reflection kite, this bucket of crispy
tenders, or this orange screwdriver: where one has become you, or their version
of you, where you realize something disliked in you: our immediate inventory,
while one is doing research, where non-interests has become an intellectual
novel: but Love is educated, and Love is fun for those, while Love is a hip, a
thought, or our dismissals: as creative children, living creative lives, so
determined to claim more than nothingness: those power trips, this deeper
irritation, where something is transpiring: such secluded privacy, such out-and-out
displeasure, where one is free to emanate as determined: mere responders, our irregular
pathfinders, or something needed this art of study….
