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!
