There
are kilowatts and diamond curls and eyes laden with pearls; this kingdom of
deadmen this island of sacrifices or this mansion with cryptic doors; our
arrival seemed immanent, our manifest through memories, our sweet honeyed
promises; at sinning our loins and dying our cores abused by something too
perfect for sighting.
I saw forethought as if
adultlike, plus, self-consciousness. I heard an ocean inside this rhythmic whale
while tides were raging. But dancing was nice or this gorilla in our quarters—to
watch unaware of an impending tantrum; such yeast in our bread such sparrows
unowned while figs grew rapidly nearby; our casual interaction where I learned
something keen, a parent is living for certain moments; our wheat with butter,
our bagel with jelly, or this new beginning met by new dreams; so tired in
time, or so congruent with dejection or such pleasurable misery. Our raw
texture—in these days of fire insomuch as lethal winds—to flush and swoosh like
madness; those hopeless entrails this cave so steep and thus unfound, as
creatures censored by reflection insofar as conscience while reality has
destroyed our senses; an engine by gas an artery by tubes or a grinder by
buttons; to submerge this ghost or to unravel a person at something seeming
abnormal.
I
return to countenance, such smaze and gusts, so pure but human; this patch of
strawberries or those decadent plums while nudging through sugar-apples; those
eyes receiving life our apologies for retrieving life so suited for something
this tragic; our unvocal complaints or our deep censorships while desperate to
unbuild our origins; a man so captured by ideals and carrying trivia while a snakebite
ruins his understanding; our spider-senses or this rich intuition while morning
seems so new and inviting; our travesty so light our reality trickling while
our garden suffers from blight; such defogger or such bigger clouds while
something inside is coughing: those widescreen movies, our faces splayed on
canvas, our nights a bit unsteady.
It becomes uneaten
totality, this parade in souls, where most acquiesce to keep harmony; this
unfriendly war, this cultural oligarchy, while this method loses its objective.
So, a bit removed and watching, a bit critical and pulling back, and a bit nervous
where life must reevaluate its reality; an audience gauging where temperatures
are arising or something so close, we can’t forgive it.
The
skies were there the roads were clear and Indian monks were traipsing the neighborhood.
I disappeared a little where havoc was brewing while such as scars became debris;
this ultimate line this thin un-solitary line when broken every element of
every increment is upon human channels; while everything was right in our eyes
and we danced with unsociality but never a grunt to our doings; this terrific
and glamorous story where a damsel was at deep distress and never a turn from
the Narrow Path. It sounds fantastic and many will eat this fruit and many will
defend this fruit while others sit aside and watch them eat freely; this moon
ablaze this sun as rivalry or this Venus child sipping intuition; a driven soul
a fortunate soul where sentience is sprouting.
