I essence
this life so confused about this life attempting to reach core fulfillment;
when something haunts this interior uneasiness while filled with something
crying; our appreciation levels if but those classes else this deep
depreciation; but passion so sweet or life so gentle by feelings aloof to our
reality; such cloudless moments to sense eternity so close to something inching
away; such tentacles groping inwardly our contorted faces our weathered
detective; to want by agonies to distance by behavior so curt so attracted;
this tug by war this desire by lightning as needing full on ecstasy. I can’t
capture this thing this profundity but so near to unraveling science; this peal
ringing those thoughts required or this shift we notice; to become as
creatures, to undress sensitivities, while gazing into foggy promise; this land
of war-zones this field of pantomimes at lively talkative mannikins.
I feel
like winning or something akin where battle becomes keeping those first few moments.
This
extant cycle those blooming realities or seconds looking closer; to ask for
confession, to know that love breathes, and to hear it at every turn.
Those
succulent pomegranates this season for renaissance those lucent responses; to
become in you greatness to unfold and evolve while mutual habits become
successes. Our keen relish this respect for interiors those cultured and hearty
behaviors; as two warring if but to claim this science while so tugged by
insanity; our missile dirges so silent into rooms while focused upon demanding
our mirrors; those antres in passing those other caves giggling while sweet
whispers sustain something respective; such stormy winds such wellic tides
while feeling tenuous.
I don’t
possess that gift this hard confession while searching for adequate training.
…to
watch such behaviors to realize but a joke where one is more concerned with
society; these cheerful seconds those mental almanacs like maps restructured
for private polemics; so adjacent to life so insecure about life and so
concerned for their garden is unkempt; to tillage virtue or to refuse
disharmony where it isn’t hard to always comply….
I’ll
go deeper, at this need for completion, where in me something is ripe; but a
wooded valley but a modern petroglyph or agony for something hard to sustain;
those broken roads those broken glasses at something too gigantic to half-ass;
our vatic intuition when never a word while holding to something that disgraces
itself; but so much in visions to adore while unknowing if but a feeling to
destroy uneasiness; so into watching us so much into deceiving us while it
seems quite sickening.
I feel
people; I try to respond in likeness, this wildfire undercurrent; this profound
passion, this spear increasing impact, or this knot pitted so internally; as
addicted to us as floored by us while recording transmission; so unconscious at
moments, for there is arises, while one checks in with self; those inner states
or pure impulsiveness while something reels in excited postulates; our reflex
debates our inner theorems while so wistful and radiant; no greater love
than charity, no greater seed than this, so fervid, so deliberate, and so
underdeveloped; to die in this pool as a creature partly evolved, to know with
devotion one might climb those skies.
