Haven’t Sacrificed Enough to Claim It

Such neural attraction unbeknownst to reason but palpable to senses; such sublime irrationality, to assume total affection, where a person might renege; this chance we evolve this damaged furnace while most are holding yesteryears.

I felt flux or fury or seldom a thought without addendums; so ensouled by you to picture death in you while something remote honors you—as a soul-altered honesty or a remarkable lover while patient but demanding; our crescent churns those fantast eyes this whirling windstorm; but life is evil, while it hurts, for years aforetime I lost us: prior to first glance or prior to second thought where a man is absolutely infected.

I need an allusion something inescapable with more rage than appearance; so bewitching those allures or a man blindfold in spirit where most women are aware of our ignorance; at bloodshine rivers or blackblood diamonds accursed for shivers in silence.

I loosen intuition or regather chalices where reality seems belated. This churchlike feeling those religious instruments while strumming upon a foreign violin; our cursed presumption to feel utter humiliation while one smiles faintly; to reenact a man’s trauma or to advocate for position while void of maintenance; those deeper anomalies this brain upon relapse or those dispositions alienating human creatures.

I feel a bit concerned—about this intensity by love—to define it seems incredible; those pastel grays, those soft delicate colors—to imagine that love is not selfish; those pear plum fruits those outrageous demands or sacred as sullen looking for security; our tea bags with sugar our longevity with doubts or realized as creating each moment; this strength battle for life is mystery but everything I possess seems concrete; upon a Persian rose as living in you where nothing matters but your touch; this needed sickness while I nearly vomit but to pull back causes deeper inadequacies.

I require an oracle or something innate to explain falderal. I need to break free of those crises that linger into centuries. Those airborne ghosts this deep acclamation or those days acting with purpose; to feel innocence, where others see it, insomuch a war ensues—

for it couldn’t be real to sense something in others that our pain has forfeited in us; our blasé mirrors our conditioned reflections while most are replaying our deceitful moments; to have one so lost, where intentionality is to please, while we break confidence; this man with woes this island so far away while time seems to sit in vagueness; this unreal dampness this blackdamp city or this humanness I can’t defend; as a dying creature searching into others where true sacrifice comes from within.

Thrumming & Drumming the Human Heart

Self-image photos around midnight fleeing insecurities!

To conjure up feelings or to ignite flame as accustomed to ignoring problems—

so lost in fantasy or reformed inside while knowledge becomes ostracism. This panel of judgments or those deep subtleties while one reflects upon inadequacies; those of them, or those of us, steaming over iron grays; our wonderful selves our tenuous decisions if but a man knew her pseudonyms.

I was captured in laughter to sudden upon afflatus our song seemed treacherous; to imagine you as woman or to see you as doctor while it seems so apparent to me; a bouquet of misery—where else to meet us—while most experience is blasé; unless for interests or a penchant or such a person the same electricity; but why as we die or souls as we delight where a man does not realize something essential: we need that feeling we adore that leverage this pain is a game we endure; those eyelet dishonesties or to realize it gets heavy where it was nice that you lied; our spirals our charms or dismissive for the game isn’t entertaining.

I have horrible assumptions.

It shall live in me this evenness this country of old slaves; those fetters or fences this wand this magician or something we never quite met; so pulled to let go so charmed to ignore sensation while appropriate enough to respect marriage; this low creature those high infractions while angered that some are so inflated; but a fleck of decency or angered concerning youth while men dance for certain participants; (all of our insecurities are poured into laps where the other is oblivious).

I was cynic or skeptic or epistemic—

to realize depth to remain suspicious where this summonses natural insecurities; this need for walls to collapse or to arouse German dialect at this ontological dialectic; while a man wants a woman, to arise at obtaining woman, where realization drives him to discourage that woman; so pleased to maintain, so lost to incur, while most are accruing reasons to stay—for one does not adore newness, one adores history, where trust is more important.

I lost body while capturing mind where something foreign appealed to me. I withheld but feeling stoic while something unbecoming took place.

Something has become anomaly where one requires nuance if but to entertain; but what if she flew in, such a creature those wiles, to dance like heaven has become incarnate?

I would die then, attempting to outwit majesty, or attempting this pain with grace.

Such firebrand. Such frantic betrayal. Where we forget how we have won affection.

What has Become of The Mirror?

I’m but a human.

I get angry or dance incognito at some channel in you; to perish feelings to frantic a nightmare as kissed by sunrise; this estuary silence this black mass so careful to agitate you; our irritable souls our white owls while granny is somewhat furious; those mystique eyes or those dark circles while hot yoga has worked a miracle; but a mandolin upon an island so sickly discreet; as needing attention such a torch to air-pockets while such frequencies rage sublime; our uncaged sentiments our human proclivities so sunk into forgiving decencies.

I’m but a human so incomplete so concentrated on flame; but a crucible existence but life in passion to have placed so much on you; asking for redemption requesting baptism or looking for savior-like qualities.

In terrible frustration or calm wilderness exploring or imploding at silent essence; those wars inside this fury we carry while dependable rightness; my last grip situated in passion to sudden into something excruciating; searching for solvent or manicuring misery while thinking one adventures by cadence.

                                                Such postmodern mistakes such whisk it must be ghosts.

Those melodic palms those soothing tones at treasures by sheer abandonment.

By guts or phones alarmed or suffering—so much dust or desert or sheer determinants. To live as semi-spirits to reread existential invoices or to map something perfectly; those puzzled emotions or genius insanity while feelings thrum intuition; those lost moments those last impressions where most feel pure disinterest.

I’m but a human.

This sheer contradiction while fleeing or flying or fevered. Those swift anxieties this shift in angst while a man tackles his inner condition; retracing or regrouping as captivated creatures by saxophone or salience; thereinto, this passionate lute this playful liar at deep pensiveness; to die forever, as to live chasing immortality, but a key to a locket on planet Humanity; so unique in weaving as so complete in ambivalence or so content with one’s secrets; while days are powerful where guts are sanctioned those eyes cringing joys.

Maybe a pathbreaker or some gentle maverick appointed by something unimaginable; or maybe a guru a Zen artist or an ancient unbelieved god-figure; maybe so familiar by dark knowledge where Walcott is intimidated; so left in thoughts or scientifically a hostage or painting a paradoxical portrait; our fire, those times, to think unclearly, or to imagine a careful mystic.     

Electrical Choirs come with Aglets

I haven’t faced you so inclined to erase you but mental-intuitive-genetics!

I know one a power-figure but too alert to feel innocence; where a child is culpable or an ant is deliberate while humans are fair wars; to die in this while living in this so pleased when Love is sociable.

I have courage to exist in this small pond while you infuriate something in surgery; such acme shivers at shimmer or parade while sex is so nonchalant; to imagine or experience while flux is delirious this pain this suffering those fireball extravaganzas; our gut-curse this strong chaos to become a human in dissonance; those seismic welts this earth candy where bull-dung is unfulfilling; so many oops such shame or disgusts where a man lunges at his reflection; a circuit stressor an effusion of pure bile while defining humanity.

I sung spirit in this sloth of diamonds so determined to convert existence.

I now refrain as lost in loops at railways and feeling unnurtured: the soul whimpers at mystic fury where it tortures this essence we ignite; but much more this fire or rebuilt by negligence to negate while devouring sorrow; as imagined something delightful, in a sphere demanding its demarcations, but Love has a contract unto death: this light-song those dear experiences while two can become too close to divide; this fever we beg, or this question we answer, while so close Love must run.

I saw a peephole into this unstable future while nothing is pure reality. I tried understanding where a man is gentle while a woman knows her legs are wobbly; to imagine a miracle or so enthralled while one grows weak in another’s essence; this furious war, this gut in shreds, while a man prays to our skyline.

We rely upon axioms those general comforters where passion confronts our pillars.

I was so cool, in this region of dice, where something like magic occurred. I was ensouled with fervor but never for determination while found with a neighbor’s compass; so awakened into something uncanny where the mind is aching for a jury; indeed, too far in to escape, or to afar to win, while some things we live with throughout existence.

It seems incredible something we publish or interior a romantic, outwitted mind.

I return but skyward. I leave to an inland its dice. But courage to exist comes with courage to endure. I have an inkling or something artificial while I share in intuition; but a torch in mire but a feeling in pixels where reality is quizzical: our future memoirs!    

The Church has Suffered: The Swan is Riven

We’re buried by dilemmas or functioning vaguely where we cherish inheritance. Those islet atolls this carriage in green or those eyes luminous summer; so clean but filthy at tunnels spatial or alive a casual excitement.

            You appear grayly in such suffocation so invaluable to life.

It was easy or hard this thing we negotiate while deciding where anger rests; those barefaced truths those omission lies while some seem impeccable.

Such abstract absorption those closed cameras or tales about a horrible soul; to angel heart-ware or to clash with feelings where most are not equipped for honest discussion. You must wonder concerning this impasse how concrete remains human; our minds upon beauty our souls purposed our arcs so aesthetic; this present feeling to conjure such fire where your mind is activated; those future situations where you must oust a joker in an atmosphere screaming at survivors.

It sparkles like humanness those pearly lilies at sudden emotionality; this Zen garden those koi-fish while one is so into basics; such asymmetry while we search for balance in a land promoting chaos; our crushes at times our discontent at windows or our shadows serious about influence; to sing silently to move mechanics or to adore sight unseen; such wrenching fatigue such deep inquiries to wonder how love is often loveless.

I have loved like languishing those tumbleweeds rolling this interior city-desert. I saw a healthy creature so tiny so big to imagine this miracle claiming brains; such mizzling drizzle this spirit-gown while a man was so frustrated. It takes a perfect endeavor in order to claim perfection where some things are off limits; those rules we impose at this mirror we mire while so hard on ourselves; this religious spin this trespass by existence as kissed or forgotten. So pictureless so unintended where we face situations; such southern stubbornness or northern curiosity where so eastern often occurs late in life; our western hypocrisy or something embedded where I ask of you those things I can’t accomplish; as bashful planets anticipating warmness while it seems so cold; those wants we have versus our requirements or likely a feeling for something restricted; at crucial churns so concerned about persistence if but to lay claim to something too powerful. Our mothers with edginess or thickets in citadels or splendor in suffering; to imagine trenchant love this true affection that torn church.              

Where Values are Feasible: It Requires Mirroring Souls

We cater to soil we exhaust our morals so complete in the fairest creature.

It was days hearts flew so renewed in burgundies so casual it was perfect; our befriended chateau our benighted undergrowth or courage to sprout once again; to cherish to conflict to converse at turnpikes; such incandescence such roaring fires our passion our sentiments our patience; these elements by sensitivity those flowers unborn or souls desired disastrously.

Let’s imagine our craving something in essence too devoted to sense turmoil; so inclined to die first, if but to hush weather, where titillation becomes permanent; but not our eyes but not our bodies rather some principle felt prior to its explosion.

While watering our ethics we inclined to hypothesize insomuch as to unknit human instinct; our beautiful skies our terrible-fantastic as never such compassion in an animal; this monster-battle those leviathan beliefs or such undertones we rebuke indifference.

Our carefree stubbornness our rectangular proclivities as answered in everything censors us!

Such otherness by privilege in a mind ignoring its rain while this must accrue anomalies.

The pond ripples our minds rivet our song is wistful; those fairytales we compose or more longing flames where Adored repurchases those first few kisses; those laudable souls as abandoned to right-actions where but a fraction become internal solace; at haste that rush or mornings sunken low at a brain funeral; wainscot frustration or surreal occasion to value something seated in stillness; to imagine if pain matters or to imagine an open acceptability or to wonder about this need for monopoly; as never to contend it but rather to examine it, especially, in this beastly environment.

We want so much where our ancestors dealt with such silence while something is undiscovered.

Pure raging bodies such deep moving sulfur at lava emotionality; so captured while wending those rethought tunnels or found in something unconventional; but to have as one’s essence to envelope as one’s completion in such a passion becoming unsteady.

We must confess a given truth where if plural one is inclined to withdraw—or to work harder.

We have lost something in this war of daisies thereinto such sweet aspirations.     

Negotiate The Palm of Believability

I feel essence this performance this chi those mental registrations; this internal registrar those tapes outlined or this fever so exclusive; to die in resistance to languish in religiosity at something too crucial to analyze; so defined by classism or rebuked for indiscretion while pure goodness is rare in its mechanics:

            such winning electricity such removed attitudes while filled with understanding.

I feel as spirit climbs this trapeze into willingness while sulking a bit in density; I smile but off-feelings where many realities are unchanged; this hormonal element this chemistry in waves this gut or our music—those camera seconds so alive in anguish or too indirect to matter; our favorite existence where nothing is easy while a man is feeling joy he prepares for glaciers; those bad berries, this uprooted essence, or so involved in this it’s hard to remember—those first tears that first session as time explodes into particles of emotion.

When low everything is promise where a soul is inverted while a compliment goes further.

But tender aches into a tender tunnel while eternity seems irrational; our quakes for magic or so mystic we escape or so involved we exclude; a man at valleys or enlisted to esoteria so blessed so unfit debating gratitude.

I remember friendship. It was free of observation; where it was so swift, so easy, for two to pair leaving me for dishonored; such forgiveness as a man loses realizing some are open to pain; a carefree person so enamored by deception or so close it would never be us; so dead in this, thinking of those eyes, realized to give one too much; such a deep meaning, to desire eternity, in a land that has lost morals; this essence in right versus wrong, this unsung sorrow, while many are concerned with those fifteen minutes.

We catch it in a breath such sharp intensity to realize a person is high-essence; but dragon hearts or tiger feelings or snake emotions; to understanding casual truths as so much rides upon us in this world requiring our balance; to know for such need, as sung to die in us, or so open life centers within; our survival element or rationality for something irrational while so knitted inwardly we have become whispering priests; those internalized murmurs our deeper regrets but filth to soul it felt so wild.

I imagined something unlikely or something we impose where we make a person perfect.

So rewarded by absence but so difficult in self or wishing for one unbelievable; this war in us, this distorted interior, while needing this thing we can’t believe. I write as she reads where letters are quite honest. I live for one river while today I met in heart. Those miracles or this need to perform or better this urge, this force, to be both accepted, as too, appreciated: a man loses—a man resurrects—but a man is altered in essence!

I Find Our Rules are Problematic

I explore wisdom this painful creator this power too emphatic. I kiss knots so knitted by pressures or silenced by liquor; to have adored dying while such was luxury at purple pride or passion; if but to believe in something crucial while a man idealizes his queen; this unreal creature this perfect romance if but to perish so slight of terror; such nobility such anchor or wrench our ship-plate haywire; as irreligious souls hung by Jesus while it seems an immoveable paradox; our keel but kilns our kites for daughters our minds upon upheavals. Ladies—you must assure a man, you must be easy, for strength might disappoint you!

            Such aperitif to stimulate appetite while pondering alterity.

But a soul in you so downcast in you while heaven became a hellish language in you. Those turbid ponds this turbid feeling while a person often acts in opposition to his feelings; but proper behavior but proper exposure or but a proper death; or unloosened latchets above pure levity while there is friction in laity.

I was abandoned. I walked through Santa Monica. I met Muslim women. Those scents to a scented brain they exhilarated me. We fired in harmony such a gift from interior where I never felt such fury. Too much beauty as in becoming caricature while a man was left with unbelief.

Loving you was two mountains.

Such abysmal justice such unreal imperceptibility where it was delight to imagine crystals; an angel afire while beauty is a monster our cathedral rebuilt; so facial or comely so agitated or irritable while it couldn’t be factual: such ballad unstableness such disturbing letters while it was unlikely to retrieve sympathy; this unfetching essence this sheer contempt where something is askew; but more to structure so agitated by caprice while we realize a man might lose senses.

                                                We made death of us while blaming the other in sex so volatile.

I can’t reclaim poison albeit this functioning hemlock while daughter has reflection. Those egregious days that bad email or a man pleading his resurrection; to feel such power where nothing else is coming, or to state something crude where she shivers from guilt; so inexplicable or so incorrigible where a man might accept by region: those languid apologies, or that awkward nonchalance, to have feelings for being discovered; but nothing tangible nothing human, especially, nothing affectionate; those others at dismissals our charms but disgusting or our arms reaching for branches.   

Where Lambs Fight Existence

I light a clove so gone in you if but something imaginary:

cakes or cookies rights or alienation a woman brilliant enough to play the dozens;

as unusual creators or laughing at midday while unsure of its meaning; our decorated harps our violins giggling or this somber piano; a souvenir so close an heirloom so far or those days her flesh appeared holy; this manly sickness this need for precious or alarmed that a mind could feel so roughly.

I shift with Jesus this Form in ecstasy where Love knew for error; to play our organs to assail our imagination or to suggest a different experience;

wooed into seduction such a powerful womb this element we try to downsize; but a man is crazy while claiming ownership until it loses its nuance; such softer music such human religiosity while we claim this is from Yahweh.

It uncovers us where a woman is right as getting far away.

I met incompleteness this social undercurrent or needing the perfect imagery; to dab this to saxophone a scream or feeling indifferent where a torrent was rushing; this masked man this unveiled maniac at curtains or doors searching for something missing:

our high acclaim our higher ideals where centuries have proven us as incomplete;

but a noble human but a noble wife but noble dysfunction.

Such a downer or such reality while an ontic adoration gives a woman life; our mentorship our deep counseling where a person plays doctor; our years in college our accounts for homes our joint-taxes. I met Ms. Ascetic—this crucial creature—where sentiment by personality was in contradiction. A man must be this or a man must do that, while Love was juggling unreality. I see us trying desperately, where this is terrific, but how far have we traveled away from being human? A soul becomes confused by treasured high-maintenance where either/or becomes enmeshed with something totally opposite. (But Love is a photograph a fulgent miracle to have died in colors swimming through ink; as Love is satire or rose-bedded insanities so blessed so courageous so intimate; our breakfast with laughter our lunch with highlights our Elijah come midnight; to touch is uncanny to dream is such forgiveness where if life than our guts; our governed cages our dearest deal breakers while a man wants to behave; our furious passion, our Born Again zeal, while so far removed we have met The Ghost; if but to arrive in us if but to maintain such glory where we read and digest and become most fantasized).

Human Purging

We burrow into spirit seeking buoyancy so imagined in ourselves; those corrugated rooftops or ceilings lying to me or this leaning fence with a hole in it; to die that color, to undig our bones, if but to speak by sinews.

            Those smokestacks this chimney lung or this feeling in humans.

            Our buoyed melancholy Our chemistry mistakes Our minds unleashed.

I once adored it spinning into it the flamboyancy of an artist; so close to it so enslaved by it but a surf paying on a rented mattock; mental tenements or deadly crosses or so close to losing we adore abuse; to ungift arteries to rehouse sentiments where Agony is molasses; this slow drip this humanistic condition while needing so close to one our kidneys!

            Like rewriting lines, fresh from a movie, as all of me to exhaust emotion.

Such a husk to carry such a daughter to envision such stars or atmosphere; so brittle a human so touchy an attitude while depression is over-studied fatigue:

our huffy debris those lands we roam or those corridors we travel; this holy vestibule so many carton-rooms insomuch as becoming ecstatic; those guffaw hallways those comedic ironies where such image must suffer.

I reappear to mirrors after days of sensories while muffling or murmuring; those abyss regions those portal eyes to imagine those things we justify; such internal brawling such instinctive intuition at something too real to exist; an ocean of cries a sea of flames while boiling water was refrigerated.

I will never win essence where deep sawdust has become a mini-leviathan; a man needing council or a woman lost afar where rationality sounds like grenades.

We recolor wheels we whiff religiosity or we go in so steeply we never return; but many are stagnant or sluggish or bleaching their receptors; these creatures possessing modicum power while mighty amid the pressure; those cryptic cycles where clowns are pleasant but we sense this painful current.

If but our last draft seated in helium with that reaper asking questions; where deeds are accounted where excuses are measured as by inrush, we fret emotion; those feelings this gut to realize purging.   

Define Human

I space into voltage our chase by empires our screams while into throws. Such windy deliverance rereading our memories but infused by determination. This easy decision those hard resolves our influx in character. Our incredible resilience this battle against our actions while pleading to forgive our intestines. But an orbit surrounded by gravity so thrust into responsibility; or but something unlikely those fought odds with fire aiding survival; to redeem in private to kneel beneath a table or raise a lamp higher. Whence to begin in this village of self while mirrors predict a total stranger. At ends reknitted at personhood as a phantom or so convicted easily off-balance; such incredible love, especially, while unconvinced, while time with trial unbraids ideals; whereto, indeed, to stand, having done all to lose; such riveting pyramids or life by three parts insomuch it is impossible to be a good Christian; these elemental designs those terrific feelings in a world that chases forever.     I imagine those joys those days while remembering great naivety; this childlike dimension this one we harden where it has little place in this matrix; but one is running or one has hidden self in an effort to outwit suffering; this boxed existence this smaller universe while we are feigning control.     But what about our children in this complex color while unbeknownst to greater difficulty?     It hurts to measure it kills by pavement where we offer abstracts; or serious assertions as if those complete this cycle destroying our humanity; to suggest failure or to blame the victim while in actuality we are void of a concrete sky; these properties flowing lights in an understanding that commends doubts.     Such a chase for justice to happen into an atmosphere where negotiations are insufferable; this unending road those strong rays in this desert-like city; to walk its distance or meet similarities while our minds suffer from our fears; as imaginative souls a bit lost to non-verification while taking thoughts quite deliberately; those hawks a bit indistinctive where inner perception becomes energy.     Our bouts with beliefs our interior investigation or by suffering to deny our right to vet existence; as but a vessel roaming trees or found but unknowingly to appear to my surprise: those kingdoms within this need to associate while happenstance might be just coincidence.     Located while loving where insistence flies at something permitting deep insights: our carrying projectiles those romantic endeavors as one succinct with ontology: our minds at practice our bodies at fire or our sentiments but receptive.     Such a world fraught by indecisions while grass seems to change according to lawns; those rich suggestions or this rich harassment while needing raw-like experience; to shift with anxieties or to live with angst while warding off those internalized assumptions; at metaphors or aphorisms or some thought-filled sutra; to exist as Tao or to energize through Zen or to attempt to perfect a Christian existence; these human dimensions in a unforgiving environment where everyone is searching for forgiveness.     I sought understanding in a world confusing where resistance is necessary.     I never fathomed consequence where it was never discussed while one might believe everything is up for negotiation; to imagine that perspective or to live up to that ideal in a setting where everyone is correct; a clear contradiction or a clearer dilemma while we travel according to little impute; this machine in us this hungry ocean where we might not feed it accordingly; we need initiation as firecrackers need fire while sudden to explode upon contact; to ingest our minerals to eat our vegetables or to seek out protein.     It is fundamental during this process where idleness be deliberate: In all of your getting, get understanding.   

Human Religion

we

tire of religion while frightened feeling weakened by instincts.

by fount by water encased in frailness so hardened by resistance; it isn’t but happenstance, it is more the pain, or such shameful refection. if but to die this sequence if but to arrive earlier with little thread upon our interior. those scarlet whispers upon scarlet tears or such crimson sweat.

we have dyed spirituality as down-casted winners while yoga is hard to defeat; to besprinkle a man to innertube his heart or to deflate the zealot; such theologians wrestling with science while many are afraid of evidence; but a crying banshee those iron chains where each link speaks human endeavor; but not to frighten, even further, where we can’t account for mental (upper) hemispheres; this ether participation or this energized transmitter or such rubescent visions; the poet is mad, for most percentage defined, while others are held by doubt; indeed, mental mechanics, psychosomatic occurrence, or plain under-studied phenomenon. such placed upon the numen, our desire to need something special, or our craving to feel something irremovable:

this hostile environment or this yogic/mystic realm where sheer panic befalls un-supervision; those ancient seers this cryptic shaman or a young lad raised in modern cultic families; these definitions we give God these demands we assert where we lay monopoly at a given text: so zealous so argumentative or such intellectual languishing. I have chased for decades measured by reflection where some are too powerful to deny—plus, they are anti-religion.

            but

a terrifying thought, to understand folly, or to channel too high to see. it seems segue, each pattern to paths, where rich seekers appreciate unknowingness; however, many are privy to numen, many are compatible with fire, while too many are pleased with increments.

this essence is fiddly; for religiosity is unruled whiled often authoritarian; thus, many speak about spirituality, this outlet, absent of coercion; indeed, above is a contradiction, another idea or planet, while unruled doesn’t seem to fit; notwithstanding, something is ruled by singularity, while we have witnessed plurality, indeed, we have seen violence.

yoga is winning;

in this compass we identify while theologians are maintaining or shepherding disturbance; plus, we have religion in battle where mystics are too unruly and pure assertion is under investigation; we also see tradition our communal ubiquity while we must tackle universal suffering.

Strange Fruit

I let everyone who entered my life enter through me. Demanded nonsense love and bodies that would ring (Eye Level 41).

What future is disaster?

I know much this life but weary about treatment those elements we ignore; as casual creatures undergoing courage such fire, indeterminants & pain; but a souvenir for breakfast but a close stranger our bodies showered our features uncleansed; but what is disaster—peering into jungles—while left one last kilowatt?

That countenance, it has become me, while so afar threading new sunbeams; to need that disaster to want something painful where we become traumatizing memories.

I was a stowaway child prized as an outcast while neither white nor black—but let’s read my birth certificate.

So specific an inquiry as left to succeed if fortunate or left to die rules by nature; this symphony of circumstances, as never one for complaints, but damn, so much befell but a little boy.

I grab lotic levity in livid cells abased as a creature arising swiftly; our tender seconds to have but one wish if but to adore as loved while forced to desist; those ludic eyes so filled with melancholia while chancing and dancing, notwithstanding.

Those metal spiked words this ferric channel so favored as a dear rug; this person searched for, this cherished sunlight, where one becomes a doormat specialist; our expert speculation our marvelous epistemologies or our rectangular skepticism; these needed rescuers, those internal knells, so silent so absolutely colorful; but clashing winds torn as befuddled where a man sat still from deviation.

Those resplendent miseries or inrushing mathematics at something—it must be Wisdom; this fleece of projections those lines through Europe or those bones in Africa; our innate tantrums or these mental links where one suggests disconnection; so aloof to me so far from self while hollering & screaming about identity; this fair box but imagine this—we need more for our children; as a man lives so might he die where we catch a glimpse of our insanity.

What future is disaster?   

Such cognitive metaphysics such spatial Otherness—while asking about humans. 

Give Us a Definition for Humans

such floral esotericism while redbirds gather so pulled by instincts; an interior review our mental interrogation where a man auditions before mirrors.

but Love tremors where pain is relational or pride is ritualistic.

            by luminous misery so fretted by concerns to love so dearly filled with anguish; enamored chaos or twilight sorrow at roads trekking with lizards.

we adore gentility or fall like hail those keystone seconds; too casual an exorcism, those incredible strata, while a person wishes for something by differences; such photographed lava, such rich destruction, something to remember those cries.

sounds are spatial this land is crucial our arc is presidential; southern seahorses or northern octopus at something appearing in screams; such heavy erasers while astonished by ink to imagine something so permanent; but Love is sequences or dots or daggers so sensuous so forbidden; to have this emotion in a field quite my own while needing security willing to jeopardize sanity; such gorilla labor such tall grass grazing or those sagelike distant glances; such irony plus rain such future memories such present mind-pictures; as cursed to explore, even death so electric, in such a wrath of running harvests.

we have loved purely while convinced by worldliness so accused of assassination; so many shapes such languishing atmosphere or pure lethargic winds; such intense rapture laced with apathy so ironic the way we love:

to build in us this planet of uneasiness while true love fears its object: at toil or strain at heart or body where the human definition is too concrete; but orpine sin upon a sea of dramatics above those nova petals; at no greater word, but it seems superficial, if one but utters, I love you.

to scratch a muscle, to glance at screens, or to grab a cola; such a noble feeling so intense with laughter while life proves fever for stronger souls; but we watch something so confusing where many live out painful simplicity; close to five lovers in one month, such Tao induced unclarity, while having plural lovers isn’t the source of pain; it becomes those vows those ruthless, I can’t carry this, vows; for we desire undivided adoration we need to feel royalty where evidence of plurality might shift our energies elsewhere; so a sacred, elusive, even illusory proclamation—where walls are crumbling, as words become nonsense, plus, vows unravel where bodies carry scents; this sort of misery, proving itself ignoble, while a day or two later, the say behavior is carried out. but a rare saxophone such golden passion so intent, attentive, or traumatized; where behavior becomes representative, as words are concrete, while our human definition expands.          

Centuries Have Deconstructed Truth

I get lost in memories so close so attuned so distant; to love like essence to die in essence or to relive it daily.

Such insolent music while casted to oblivion too wise for me too creative.

I encounter elements stressed or sainted where silence is symphony; our small mistakes our courage hearts at something snow perfect; the axis of voice or to ask questions this pain we explore; but a bridge to wounds but sodium to brine so woodcut so elated while we nestle our feelings; those deconstructed selves those mirrors in turquoise or brains respecting innocence; our mental draperies, this spirit-curtain, our joust for love or this winning of love; those seconds we forget those tetanus pricks while evidence seems inconsequential.

Would to soul this utopia this inner essence instead of this dystopia.

Those exulted moments so close to misery while so good at feeling alive; to lose poetry as to regain scripture where many are wondering deeply; such vex or turmoil at such tests or struggle while one has a clear perspective on life; so flailed asunder so devastated composing while true essence seems controversial; this building of existence, this flirt with deaths, so fretted so crucial as to why one needs every opportunity; a man’s pride as too his joy where darkness has ushered at his lips; a minute’s jaunt and such wretchedness where two join expecting brevity; this other face in souls, this one messing with minds, insomuch as they designed it for such levity. (to imagine something one adores those entrance doors this dying in scores)

I haven’t seen much aside for dreary reality plus faith rebuking its client; such credulity this eagerness to believe while most are too insecure for utter belief; something it is, this ascetic existence, while to adore requires self-austerity; for crevices are heavy angles persist while one might say something enchanting; our complex ears our soot vibrating where one says something making us feel clean.

I have come to a conclusion as never again my naivety or never again silence walking its pace; so, we dig deeper, we become phantoms, where we pride existence on its terms; such reaching familiarity such absence while needed where one confides in another where unsaid creature explores exploitation; it becomes simplistic, from one pool to others, while experience doesn’t change.

We select our lives in ghostly attire where most just need one secure feeling; but a bit contrite exhausted by essence where one is becoming too familiar. Those intrusive questions where we contort our faces while truth is something we beg for; indeed, this realism, and bring it to heart—What the hell are we going to do with absolute truth?

There is Room for Deconstruction

to reconstruct memories or unbuild trauma where others are provoking violence; a man babbling such science unbeknownst at something made arbitrary; those pitted anxieties those remarkable delusions where it becomes quite easy; to see resentment to realize its nature for no other purpose; in diagnoses, it can never be us, it must always be the subject; this seems too easy, it banishes fallibility, but it must be quite comforting; as not for provocation, or some underwater frustration, but simply to suggest a richer perspective; such becomes crazy, when a person has an affliction, where all issues are filtered through unsaid affliction; it is escapist, it undermines reality, but it becomes a favorite go-to.

I ponder normality—as to ask a question: Must normality consist of (all) positive traits?

the

answer is quite instinctive for we see negativities where many of them are normal; for example, to become defensive or to lie these are unfortunate but they are normal behaviors—depending upon a given situation.

I am searching for one deeper this dynamic between psychologist/patient—where intimacy, albeit, surface promulgation, it must remain imbalanced; we might sense deception as normal, if but to focus the patient, if but to make a breakthrough; but something intricate is taking place, where repeated behavior becomes the go-to while intentionality must be cognizant.

this

is

however

normal behavior.

we review our encounters, where lying might be good, while too much lying becomes pathological, even psychopathic; indeed, something negative is deemed essential as in necessary and even considered normal; upon a false foundation something critical emerges where good results enforces a deceptive practice; something truer: if a patient realizes deception, it does not fall upon the psychologist, but rather, it is seen as a negative in the patient, which is considered unnormal—in some cases, psychopathic. I will not depute it here, maybe in an upcoming debate, but if something is designed, we insist, that it must be even.

those artists paint with ease, they strengthen with a slant, they have an inner portrait representing normality. but many are debating with a few core rules where mechanics take precedence. here, we are empathetic, considering something unsaid, while one insists on room for deconstruction.

Heart Rockets & Unbuilt Meaning

I realize condition, so sweet a smile sparking tense sentiments; at that vulnerable sequence at those delicate drums while souls aggregate; but Love is tipsy, and such a challenge, where father is watchful.

Our musical metaphysics our courageous homes while it feels nice to adore; our blackbird diamonds or hearts this driller while phantoms appear at winter’s edge.

I have declined passionate melancholy re-sensed in soils where owls are becoming wolves; but a daughter is heaven a poetess is Europe while is should be normal to bless only one’s people.

I, too, advocate closure, or rising hawks, where an eagle seems afraid; such crude lessons while becoming diplomatic insomuch as missing details; but dangers excel old thoughts become new pillars while many are not testing, vetting, or verifying systematic beliefs; our peaks at noon or morning oceans where a ship has sailed for half a century; those weeping willows those waxing seaweeds as one ecstatic to reach sands.

I have noticed America—she supports, endorses, or ignores her countrymen. She is harsh upon her sisters where she tolerates broken homes—but mainly, she endeavors by freedoms; this right to exist, this passion to create, where she turns an eye away from failings. Deeper truths, plus, a contradiction, for America has labelled her citizens.

But seconds are polaroid those screaming young souls while eating is presently an interruption; those established families those outstanding links insomuch a feeling has levitated.

I read around I saw goodness while most are preoccupied. This will become our ties our immortal fulcrum over more days to surrender; while life is adult even more than antiquity where reality is multidimensional. But this man missed his mark, America has spoken, where such intensity occupies every encounter. It must be the poet while one sees too much where something like actualities shall, or should, remain unspoken. This surrender we speak, those alignments we expect, where most are unqualified for head manager.

I should speak beauty or aesthetics or thoughts to some romantic creature; to bombard with everything said, or claim existence in the fairer bosom, while dying to arrive at something I cannot maintain. There is a delicate line and many miss it until those established moments. I, nevertheless, sing or chime or support those hidden challenges; a remarkable mountain, a picturesque tablet, at rich debates investigating love; this young person’s territory, requiring inexperience, or so steep in psychology one structures good times; maybe a yogi or maybe simplicity at something too perfect to question; our dear privy our dark understanding plus a few insecurities and we drift from sea-cage to guillotine.

Those Feeling Heavy

We deconstruct stressors, as bluebird phoenixes, making homes through ash; those elements in terror, those daughters in crimson joys, while we exchange our holidays; to adore like living so filled with amazement or a bit lethargic; to swizzle caffeine or something effective in order to give but joyous responses;

our laidback filters, our blueberry breakfast, our strawberries with whip; so seasoned but gray so deliberate each smile where kids see perfection.

I realize anguish feeling through discord but forced to animate; our private quarters with husbands or wives, to confess struggling heaviness; such red robin adventures so courted by our universe where behavior is monitored closely; but intense needs, while cultured to fly, in essence, a bit of longing; we might detail rain, however, it seems daunting, so we speak to unidentified boulders.

Our souls are distinguished but elusive while we center in their motion; but a man with ape-glare or a woman with frozen moments where kids seem to ignore something tender; we laugh it northbound, for children must remain light, in a world where disappointment resides; our craving for essence, while possessing essence, to realize something just yearns; it becomes this phenomenon, this unidentifiable vat, where one claims this longing for Invisibility; it is left to observers if they dare reach while for most religiosity is first more sadness. I am void on determinants, or cursed as a zealot, while ethical enough to nudge instead of demand; such purposed hearts, looking even surging, while we tend to physicality most often.

It was with me early this malaise or heaviness while it seemed quite apparent; in regular senses, where one just adjusts, while, occasionally, one might say, I wouldn’t mind feeling differently; but many knew happiness this intimate force prior to an unbuilding element: such amazing experience such caring creatures where life was moving naturally; our parent’s parents, those unique persons, where many are concerned participants; indeed, a more seamy reality, this pain we muffle, where many became adults quite early; but for many, we desire these souls, we sing to memories, or we sit in stillness deeply appreciative.

I speak to sadness this inner ventriloquist or this pantomime agitator; such existential students living this epistemic existence while attempting to execute a pragmatic schedule; needing more for children, our realities somewhat disagreeable, where realism is quite assuming; maybe a drink for mother maybe a cigar for father but nothing hurts more than an adult adolescent; our dreams but workable our hopes taking their time but for many, life is moving its pace; so separated, so divided, where singularity appears so unlikely—or but for a few.     

Reconstructing a Copy

It becomes rapture so close to mercy where daughters explore practicality.

You may feel ambivalence this universal creature while designed with purpose; to wonder about mindstates so involved with reflection while palming intellectual coal; but arrival is nightmare—we must determine in order to detonate or feel inadequate; upon a small flower nibbling a sweet petal while consumed by freedom; as many forfeit luxury, this thinking activity, for rationality is a difficult enterprise; those attic-woods this garret-shadow while trekking an inner queendom; but deliberation is necessary, while greater an incentive, is to realize where existence fits in; to mow frustration or by rights to insist if but to loosen hostility; for a man is ambition where a woman is power but often we behave for upper-echelon.

The pilot is absent where a few are qualified but they have never flown a trauma-free plane; so, appreciation is different, these missives might not be received, while something in forming in psychic-lungs; such lemur dalliance as accustomed to winning while most of us are exhausted; an umbra is chasing an umbrella is broken where many are bogged down in this blizzard. But I must confess, where it is pretty arbitrary, for when thunder has passed—it is easy to suggest favor; however, it has been a merciful ride in this city-estuary while carrying key sewer attributes; so harsh on self, but requirements are different, while an innocent soul might not need military activity; whereas, a knucklehead needs infantry or sergeants or interior maintenance.

It becomes rapture so close to mercy where daughters explore practicality.

I’ll share a secret.

Whenever I face dinosaurs, I become invisible, or I simply reappear; this old behavior, such knitted yarn, accompanies a strong countenance; but I feel uneasy, where no-one quite receives me, at least, not as I perceive the situation. I isolate to become social where a simple address might have alleviated my discomfort; for often it looks horrible, for feelings are bombastic, when something negotiable erases the frustration. This might help, in an environment pitching quarters, while such and such is geared for a healthy, likeminded discussion. It grows but ivory while struggling with obstinance but we see something priceless!

It becomes rapture so close to mercy where daughters explore practicality.

I saw something beyond description—this grotto in me—or this present lament; a daughter born, albeit, a heart was not ready, where too much was taking place; but something exchanges realities, gut-walls become fresco, where much complication might be present; this reservoir of mirrors, this ocean of seabed mire, while a man might lose a dozen friends; to be alone, effacing darkness, while pondering something so tiny; others tasted sweet nectar, where I nursed upon vinegar, but something was growing: such wounded men, where many are erasing women, a few of us carry our skies!