I
casual intensity into reviewing dead-zones while receivers enter in and press
buttons; our satellite brains so charged by antennas so listened so peculiar
while a countenance sudden a yogic glow; those freezing telepathies or this
seer with tents at somewhat an old and ancient practice; such practical mystics
our prayer packets or prayer rockets those fireballs; to imagine description as
raving in court where the culprit is pointing at the man’s behavior; such social
habits entertained during wee hours while one is never alone. Those absolute
berries those delicate beliefs where coincidence ruined a man.
I need to rest this
feeling, for unsaid emotions are frantic, and, albeit, composed, this interior
sky is experiencing thunder. At raided concrete and debating soil while
attempting to outwit chemistry. Such tender rebukes such deep alienation but
what was said to make us feel this way? Our screams in vassals our vessels
blighted at something wretched and wiggling. Those debated dreams this psychanalysis
thereinto our richer speculation. While weakness strikes insomuch those
pavements to sense liquidity and melting—where agony is gentle or anguish is
sweet those signposts such participation.
…but
a cryptic fantast, those revelries about us, insomuch, something either behind
or ahead of our existence; herewith, this mystic appetite of this rapidity
awakening cultic unreality—this unphysical and picturesque magnetism or this
dreamscape of activities hither a man lost in spirit; our altered horns our
devious honesties at an angel in one unbeknownst; this moon giggling at someone’s
perceptions while sunshine is debating raspberries; so torn asunder at gravel
and gavel and tribunal—where Jung sits pointing at behaviors as such were
induced in private….
…with spatial attraction
comes irritation while it’s nice to know one is seeing—hereinto this eternal
tremor such fear and darkness so in-there existence is purely chaotic….
What
is love to one that has never loved and what are feelings to one that has never
felt? To imagine something so sparked by another person while our receptors are
clogged and lacking charisma; this essence in souls to possess but a fraction
for our minds are ever peeking into other castles; therewith such sweet
devastation or one to abuse innocence where everyone is asking: What are
those two doing?
I’m un-gripping or
un-wrenching so lost to magnitude so unraveled by numen chains—this atmosphere,
or theological lockets, at something identified by ancient religious: our attic
banshees or those fiery elves whereupon wishes were sewn into bark.
…at laughing rivers
reduced to tiny realization so small so humiliated while that horse had to
collapse; but if Love held me, would I have lived—so threshed as one deprived? —for
this resistance I found home but eyes mean more as a man struggles destiny….
