Those Roads over Lanterns

I was so low those days that come searching alchemic fires; remarkable trespass, overt ignorance, while losing close friends; our games became crucial, and too near to arcs, while a yogi gave benefit to doubt; augury visions, African royalties, and Jerusalem pensiveness; so torn between circus and hell and clowns and gnarms; billows with messages or ships in bottles as sun was meant to receive; unphysical manifests nor a charm to sing while charming nonetheless. I thought about sorrow this web of ambition while, too, rethinking pure suffering; whispering dreams, so beautiful to behold, or life as a doubting creature; so protected in there while kismet performs as sudden a situation excluding reason; those sacral ears so indebted to grandmother but too closed where moons arise; our exospheric dynamite our mannikin heroes at such deep turmoil; reminiscent of Bipolar II, this reaming agony, where many writers did not make it; our furious fire, our gallant attire, so cursed afore gorgeous granite; such dissonance these waves needing to hold security and such trembling with numen; a man facing awe, a woman absorbing awe, while the two are not aware of such affinity; our souls and sons and daughters—so splayed asunder, so gravid with pride, so accursed to reevaluate rudiments; as fretting creatures but searching for catharses where something loving has become a distraction; this pure box those boxed roses or this cedarchest at grandfathers lungs; such cultic anniversaries our marriage to spectacular as given to innocence all we can muster; or fatal feelings, congested in membranes, while something manic seizes reality; this catapult to islands this darkness whistling where clear pools are such murky and crimson. (I must confess, in this state of affairs, I realize pure havoc. Those splendid ink-bars at avenue zero while Love became fascination; to die a smidgen and looking at time, this interior clock; or a grandfather antenna ensouled with passion while sensories detect a subtle presence; this feuding man, inside this reckless situation, where we ignore as valiant negation; such savory dalliance while hell was quite tortured to imagine eternity watching ingrate survivors; but Love is forever a rose in blanket lights so cured when in her presence; our moving spirits alive as misery while lucky to stumble upon a loquat). Such deathless zealots re-cursed and given away insomuch as losing our inheritance; this fine reality where a man suffers his crucible and cultured hands destroys his image; our daughters moving senses or calibrating pianos with hellish heaven and hearts concerned; so many deposits inserted into our cerebrals where bedded diamonds begin to crystalize; but this is not the way, however, these arms, while, otherwise, one looks perfect in satin and silk; we garnish mistakes and sentence by deaths while so foul and disenchanting; we carry odors or metaphors deceiving for passion while one swift blow ruins every danger we’ve built; this constant fear this candent misery while it builds resentment; indeed it was his fault those deceptive ornaments but Love should learn to except our precariousness; a tale of irony this determined concrete while abstracts are so misleading; this exercise, those internal axioms, where one concludes upon absurdity.

We must explain something underground or soundless-loudness; this event that took place, this thing we witnessed, while deeply unsighted; this wistful apartheid, these two creatures, where both have cuddled a dead horse; those airborne spikes, this resonant determination, this hands-off evaluation; both concerned with features, both understanding psychopaths, and with hesitance, both new such reality by the age of six—or a little earlier; those childhood thieves where trust is improbability and those culprits took something impossible to retrace; no matter the science, no matter the devotion, a ruined child becomes a thinking machine; as spoken by this damaged creature while taught through adverse to match pieces!