I
go silent inside, such mahogany planets, such detriment and solace; to feel
normal by rain to enchant sorrow at something mystique; those days at us or
feelings generative while winds shoot into targets;
those tacit emotions so
sick into us while delusion was so beautiful; our radical aches our cries at
psychology seeping into realism; our anti-pseudepigrapha our years with Sybil
or afternoons channeling our daughters; those yogic goddesses or both mystic
and cultic avatars while souls are wandering and losing focus;
at ground fantastic to witness such acclaim where
innocence becomes necessary; our itchy surplus our years flying
to have such overwhelming
success; so incredible
a Swan such motion into
planets while something is dearly askew. Our terrific lies as reality unfolds
while fluffed and puffy but losing air-canals; those iridescent miseries those
spatial elements while looking for someone to blame; our dead-zones our kleptomania
at
penchants and wistful or organized for life’s affliction.
Those
driving forces these self-actualizing creatures where a mad inclination became
sheer embarrassment; that one-sided story by myopic lenses where most are not
concerned with origin; so complete in science while adoring Adonai where something
irregular is taking pace;
those
furious anchors this chain and ship while souls are sailing to illusion; this land
of detriments this skull and bone this illusive Cross;
to need some person as
inclined by innocence where lies wreck guts; such blue haven readiness such
pensive seclusion while two first die to believe; our captive zenith this
floating anguish as laughing and smiling and majority rules; this might over
righteousness this deep alienation as wondering why souls and earth are so
heavy; as
crucial
creatures sold to indifference and so allergic to honesty; this
semi-passion
this quasi-religiosity while most are always partly in; to
crucify
Jesus to claim his terror while knowing homes are ruined; us
treacherous
deeds our treacherous charity while tithes are used for
clearance; to walk away so indebted
to earth where clarity seems so obscure; this failure
to relate this ocean seeming
therapeutic while sheer apathy attempts to reschedule—something in brains where
joy is misery and misery is intimate;
our innocent intentions
while a man is churning where his color is more important than his pain.
So, we die to aphasia or
so loud in our brains fueled by angst and termite-feelings; this itchiness
those emotion-bugs at gravity and falling into our lies; such delicate
witnesses a phone ringing while actions become answering machines; this worrisome
soul, this kidnapped spirit, while
Love
is struggling.
