I imagine
cadence, this texture in twine, so confused as confounded; those emerald fears,
so remote in me, so silenced by ambition; or this small pond, those mahogany
eyes, our tender pains; by pure electricity this Asian Monsoon so carried into
dungeons; our pure wedding those draperies in gold so cold and isolated; so
rich with property, arrant with compassion, while How to Love becomes
important; those years abandoned to wilderness this whisper so cavelike and
those rubies disappearing; our music indebted plurality, to lose us was God,
while many side with imp articular; this strange land, while each is a sinner, if
one permits such doctrine; but either/or, this stark America, where totality
fails to include many; left by this tsunami, where evidence is deceptive, while
time and again—I must re-lie to myself;
but agony
is sweet, this life is spectacles, as sentient propellers.
I imagine
cadence flipped into atmospheres peering into Mongolian sands; our bathing mudslides,
spatial by perception, where a man realizes it was designed to deceive; so harassed
by existence pinched by insanity where one person is elbows to ears in orgasms;
it meant so little, but it means so much, while some families are ordained infidelity;
so, we retreat into cocoons splattered in halves and thus seared in that
trusting space. I lost while observing while taken into silence where a person
may love dearly; or something that destroys propels a legacy in this pit of
shrapnel, iron, and particles; those magenta eyes, those lemur gazes, while
love purchased an aye-aye; those Canaanite habits, such belly dancing magic, or
radicalized energies; to adore as winning this vestige of profanity, or so
commanded by one soul;
too intense
for mystics or too humble for yogis while a man with insanity fits the groove;
our fatal attractions thereinto this regretted space whereunto life was monotonous
prior to dying; our beige turquoise planets our beats trembling with patience
at banished travesty and pride; to live forever, as a vampire creature,
suckling and laughing secluded in a haven of admires; so close it aches, so close
I agree, while Machiavelli is upon display; those bags, so many a life time,
while I believe our swan is an angel; this thought in fathers, so last to see,
where seeing ruins innocence; but either/or, this life of naivety, as this pain
by intensive understanding?
this
love by deep listening set aside for each person where the other is deeply
present; this Buddhist palace this essence I desire if but to put facts to our
intellectual tests; for there is suffering, this essence we have not imagined,
this person desiring us as a best friend (How
to Love). our immediate
compassion, our dreams in another’s palms, as realized without us I die gently.
but terrible reasons outreach our growth and life is hidden activity; to exist
so many years thereinto this hectic life requires a guidepost to instruct our
healings; as beautiful souls, so long at living, to look upon something
slanted; those burgundy rivers, those dedicated salmon, at this season for
spawning; so aloof at life, so ashamed of images, while our world is quite
demanding.
I imagine cadence fretted or reborn like thunder to
aching hearts; this notion I presume, while pain is too much power, if but to
redirect those core sensations; to invert and bloom as song and spirit touching
something quite directly; either/or, those small vehicles striving against
those large vehicles guiding; for each person is a globe by fire and water to
explore an entire existence; our habits ruing us, our resistance killing a
healthy future, but we utter, I love you.
