Untied & Undercooked

I live by fences or gates or irritations; such fuel to adore such resonation so accustomed where secrets dwell. To dislike mirrors to force perjury while condemning said mirrors.

A little laughter those wires or a little sadness those kaleidoscopes.

If but to leap if but too high where angels are analyzing women; this indwelling lizard this miraculous desert or those serene cacti; such porcelain fever, such mahogany torque, if but such as living in us—those fires in cocoons those trope kites while so close as feeling something is wrong: a man in literature or a woman in Fanfiction or such confused creatures—to need favor or to desire excitement into kelp and seas and dolphins.

So untamed so polite but vicious while everyone is unintelligent; his mind is naked the music therein is naked while Love accommodates for Love is naked.

Those gravestone jigsaws at terrible moons while it was nice to play pretend; our blackberry liquor our Dreamwood figments such earth, ants, and worms—as dumbass believers while waiting for a Coming where many are panting in flames; so many rice fields, such ungoverned magicians, where danger enters when mouths unveil.

Into a sailboat a smaller machine upon an ocean guesthouse; those ways we feel those nephew emotions our niece’s wisdom; while longing for tranquility or sputtering softly where decencies are unhooked; so controlled by instincts confronted by medals into every woman’s humor.

It couldn’t be reality it shouldn’t be insanity so invited to perish; but false puritans or status beliefs as creatures losing tentacles; our right to obligations, our rights to impose, while often we break contracts; those one-sided screams or those one-sided demands, at the peak of our deception; in to self-government, or deeper illusion, while honesty has never been law.

There were impulses and distress and anti-rights; there was a rude poet, so thrown by life, and so disappointed in people; there were officials, losing decency, and monitoring auras; such primitive strangers or such crucible strangers where animosities are gymnastic—those loops or such quarreling while angered for our horizon; as never to communicate and never to sudden by flexibility!   

It Becomes: “I Will Love You by Deaths Only.”

Forgive the sunshine, indeed, forgive the sunflowers, while a theologian forgives anxieties.

It was young fire made unorthodox flame so fretted so circumspect; to sense in its aura a particular agreement while it determined its action; this repels into a balling curse while some will attack; such pavement and so deliberate while most priests are guzzling cement; but more by color or mis-reasoned moons after lakes have been denied; those coursing feelings this raging earth to find more are discontent.

—it functions well this is ever a challenge for it seems independent. such opaque bars such steel toilets plus a portrait of St. Paul; or beheld as lonely and condemned for content where majesties are gray; such lurid persons at deep discontent where neither shall win; but agitation or frustration or flippant complex castles; a hymn for Jesus, but humans have freewill, where often we need total autonomy; a tress for spirit a moon unapologetic or a daughter this warfare—while mother was vicious and father vamoosed where they all left dregs abandoned; it’s not enough, for one is strong, and we must remind him of snow covered dung—

—a delicate pearl or a strong woman or something uncontained; something gnawing, something foreseeing, or something rolling dice; those vague subtitles, at a real battle, where people listen—even understand—but can’t charge the subtleties; to run a risk, but it’s hell either way, where we sense that one is psychotic; this means something, but not as advertised, in truth, it means that person is a step ahead; indeed, of those predictable things, those predictable responses, while the psychopath might like you; such delicate mirages, such informal documentation, or such systematic pushing—

How to pride blackness, this nomadic color, this sky of tombs?

It takes predicament it takes private discussion it takes a level of acquiescing; staring at footlights or un-advertising abilities or tugging at skyglass unbeknownst to regulators; it takes utter silence where others are free while politely existing the stage.

It takes endurance while kidnapping pride by scarlet lettering; it takes a gray sun or a dormant ambition while others are freer to chase designs.

—we each have some struggle, some city-tribe, some unequal measures to undergo; or maybe it’s subtle, meant for distraction, where two or more practically disgust each other; such clear ether, where they can’t let go, if but for utter annihilation—      

When the Heart has Refaced Us: A Desert Road

To grill discomfort so determined to ignore, while the bear is charging; those inward appellations or rudeness internally while misnomers seem by authority. I have lost something where one needs something insomuch as one is suffering; such reasonable chaos, so protected by council, where one has unreasonable pillars—but a threat to anything but gadfly and dragon while angered no-one is seeing beauty.

            It comes by years those undivided crafts into dungeons and lakes or creeks and meadows;

to become according to soul while many are gray concerning personality. As held at points then pushed by soil at scars and screams those interior chambers; the city of doors those sky-hallways while one is angered or distraught or seeing behavior from a light perspective; indeed, if darkness than havoc plus I see darkness differently; a seesaw midair or total disenchantment while behaving like humans are off the grid; our inner holograms at base instincts where to respond means a dearer essence; those ghosts running those phantoms smiling while one must suppress and become a humble victim; (but pains are true, and never forget, those deeper feelings are there with reason).

—maybe provocation or maybe a sensitive person or maybe you look like mother; those shorn realities those intensive agonies or maybe intentionality; but they agree and life is an oyster or personalities are like clams. this bucket of complaints this feuding area or an arena fraught by impassivity; the nerve of them, as to catch a grudge, when all we have done is utterly disrespect knitted triggers; to ask one question, and become provoked, for a man did not dispute the viciousness of the matriarch; for it matters so little, if the child is suffering, for it is more important that the mother feels lovingly—

When to say, “All people,” or “All of them,” we become sloppy and fallacious—but certain traits are indicative of a given group. I might say, “Vicious,” or “Manipulative,” but this is not indicative of the entire species; in addition, we have a weakness, and that is, we might show mercy where defeat lies, or we might advance for we feel superior; either/or, we diminish something, be it viciousness or humanity. I must wonder concerning invisibility or how one sounds raving over subtleties; plus, we never submit, unless forced or prone to respect, especially, one originating from the dregs; quite prolific claims, while reminiscing on King Jr., or concerned about becoming Kierkegaard; or one more heinous, my mother, Virginia Woolf, coming to me in a perfect stranger: that death that reality where they must force the deck. But how have I died—is this even negotiable—in a system designating illness by numbers?

It was Morrison’s eyes or a woman we meet or mother in Topanga Canyon. It was Bellflower nights or neighboring cities to see a different class; or it was Woodland Hills at Fleming’s watching myself; to ask for mutuality while seeing the worse or something yet to arrive; and it must ache for it fires where churchyard havens disappear. To summons energy or throw a spirit this means belief is there.           

I Thought About A Daughter: (Maybe this Speaks)

so determined by behavior, a response for each action, while an engineer is vying for paranoia. but soft delicacies or deeper inheritance to have once dealt with monsters; this marginal preparation, into whetstones, or oceanic into brain-spheres; to lose a clue, where a person did that, while strength is ever verified; it becomes by design, it remains poignant, where circumstance effaces impetuous claims: by example—a man claims his affections, selfsame man learns your habits, and this person decides to recant his first assessment. It dwindles into hells—while so focused—to believe in self as ultimate religion.

I have nothing to say with so much to exhale while anything becomes its destination.

I have come to an island the birds are exotic the colors are existential. I have thought too frankly while excusing grayness where something is lost; but a Swan is watching a Star in blossoming and Sickness is pouring into serenity; to imagine such vanity, into a system, where everything must change for you. but darts are delivered or targets are refocused while one is so close to you, they must harm stability; for it must be false, for it wasn’t vetted, especially, by them.

it was cloud-shine, such nebulosity, and God was watching; so much a need, indeed, for definition, but Nature was observing. Satan appeared and teased Majesty while enticing Radiance against a young man. it becomes this way—it becomes treacherous—where unsaid man wanted to know origin; this Raging Voice those redherrings while one is left feeling pathetic. this miracle to secede or this hope for pure understanding or a riddle decoded but message unvetted; where Diamonds giggle, laughing hysterically, for something remains amoral!

a man fights for assistance where his pride attempts to unlock it while it was determined he did not fit in. when

a group has developed patterns, plus, the subjects fit those patterns,

one showing independence must be confronted.

we favor automatons, while preaching free-agency, even roaring concerning injustice related to us; but hell to it, this dungy design, where only a few, win; while one is set this way, or gunning that way, while acceptance should die that way—where others

are content with this!

some make dying a habit, where one gets information for the purpose of exploitation; but more to fact, where an addict is mistreated, and another addict reaps revenge: We are not parasites nor piranhas and others must treat us well: this is absolutely true!

—but behavior determines treatment, where some behaviors are adverse, or even horrifying—

Remember to Reface My Feelings

“Be the best, but know boundaries, where alienation shall ensue.” (Unknown)

 (Not at all that drastic, where some are balanced machines and distilled water or screams muffled and hypersensitivity.)

—but the focus is me, this bewildered creature, while affronted and admiring traits—

I arrived early, maybe disguising anger, where most see the horizon.

puppies were yelping or kittens were scratching or I’m thinking unboxed. Those absent gentilities those detached elements while a man is looking at himself. (It becomes dangerous, where a person has studied us, or knows those alleys.) I walked a number of steps. I saw a voice. I heard a face. It balloons this way; and I shouldn’t feel perplexed, but only something removed fails to feel entirely. This dear risk this dear test while we wonder if space is too crowded.

…as it stands those feelings are electric those pillars are soft-roughness…to begin by changing faces or to determine responses where one is sharper than me…indeed, this valley of furniture these unrealities where most were raised to be sensitive…but time to seasons or whales to necks while after something he will not attain….

I was aware of myself—while watching an edgier me—while reflecting upon raja. This city erupted—buildings toppled—there was rubble and debris. I trekked carefully—while listening to silent presence—where words weren’t the primary focus; this pain we pursue those mountains we carry so afar from one another: it speaks it jangles it becomes its giant!

—there are patterns so knitted into humans while cultural differences have blended into pots; when we see it often, we think about our mirrors—if but to decipher our part; but some things are unremovable they gray into atmospheres and it’s our instinct to move forward; indeed, one will presume a fact, while discarding history, while distressed about those results—

                        If I forgive you and another is watching—is that person disapproving?

We live some way, where many are attuned—to each and every emotion; this is both a curse and a reward or something requiring training to fully entertain; some can generate any emotion, where some can become multiple patterns, indeed, some specialize at rearranging their mirrors. It becomes isolation or unboxed segments into regions and designs and hemispheres.

Those feelings subside or dig deeper concerned with such obscurities; but if one is content and feeling uninterested—why would that become public domain? So, I have met this design, I have dined at a trestle, and I have disappeared politely.  

Tar is Hardening & Wings are Feathers

So surrounded by you so elated in sorrow or boxed in swimming to islands.

Such fretted isolation so cured in solace while abandoned to chaos; something nonsensical or dearest to light too surreal to be actual; this long curse this moving battle as accustomed to losing love; those maniacal ropes this heated chain or this gatekeeping fence.

To be so far while fire ignites as in making passion is miracle synaptic—this gap in cities this polite disenchant or romance too pure or too neat; our needs for friction into portals while Athena seemed so sincere.

This wisdom war those pregnant countries while it hurts to speak to some people; this division this unnoticed elephant or those people exploiting such innocence.

I have adored while breaking I have pleaded while infused and I have prayed for long-term answers. This man unmasked this part face while losing something to afford God; those blatant disagreements or those unchivalrous activities where it was life to veil hell; this check into pages this fury to realize while years that way makes you evident that way.

It was beauty after deaths it was compassion after callousness and it was determination after defeat; to push so desperately or form something uncanny where on sight something became a living catastrophe; while a man muses he forms a reality albeit something is unreal; as to know a break as to live for that break where one is seen as delusional. It can’t be actual and it can’t sing duets and its not an opus when no-one can hear.

There were khaki pants, explosive hips, and legs meant for teasing. There were long dresses, accentuated ankles, and devastation. There was silent observation, looking for certain reactions, while angered a man did not fight. There were shallow scrapings above skies laughing while one was indebted. There was an isolated man, lunging at earth while earth was pulling into caves; and there were fancy beliefs locked inside fancy covering where one kept asking for its kernel.

I was lost in us, but something unstable, for we never gave but lusts their opportunities.

There should be trusts and dynamite and ends of the earth for us; this man trying but sin or this gin giggling or this address so into that fire pile; but a child those days, as inculcated flames, where one swears a recorder is playing; to worry unto deaths, to feel distracted, while so much unevenness is proffered as truth; to merely think it—and it must be actual—in a world so devastated by this process.

Societal Architecture

Glossing over curtains those raspberry textures while seated but fleeing; at junior inheritance but a file in laboratories or ink-spots and barbeque prints; to see you but distressed or too close to a dozen compromises; or to see disdain and laugh it away too curious to ask questions; or compelled seriously while dreaming of proclivities where a man loses his anchor.

I watched as they sat—at this divine korsi—eating with solemn concern.

I opened a book to see a tulip folded in the pages;

to think in ashes or to feel unsung while listening becomes a challenge.

—a green fleece so captured by vernal grass or so aloof because it hurts; such unconquered tremors such indelicate rites or days rehashing something by chambers; this hallway glint, those bleeding desks, where music is too loud to appreciate; to know you dearly, or to need to walk further,

while a child yanks its arm demanding independence—

—such a silent concern or such silent faces while yours is so angry; our swollen features or one so intrusive where you want to ask: Are you looking to love me?

such stolen proclivities into an odd moment while we feel forced to respond according to needs; but some are gifted and zoning confrontation to yank us back into our quarters—

We trespass yards, we confide in church, and we watch as days blur into months; our memories capture but little, our microphones are filled with static, and our noses are often forced back upon our faces; by marginal memoirs this hectic reality where it’s designed for those few men; at philosophic tournaments, or metaphysic linguistics, or writing for selected groups; this deep division, or such determination, indeed, to alienate us both. This bleak war, this whirlpool, or those existential woodblocks.

I know a name, I see a purple blanket, and a lime green snake—but I do not know you.

I heard a voice where I looked intently but the voice was merely a body; so zenic at seconds, peering at a koan, while living something at tug-of-war with itself; or standing out, indeed, looking its part, while retreating quickly; those grave understandings, in this cultic war, where most are examining spirit; to have met many, so wild at legends, while biblic inrushes usually disguise deeper insecurities.

They might destroy image, they might kill flesh, but it comes for one that's racing.

The fount is universal. It depends upon design. And it comes while the nib is going batty. This crazed warning this crazed architecture—but if it wasn’t necessary, they would ignore you!

Noted as Blue

Those roses those thorns as blood trickles forward; to grip losing life, so loud in quietude or so divorced from everything normal; our black souls as father socked mother to awaken to laughter.

So cursed in this family so aloof to accusations while too smart to play piano; this distance in youth this web in diaries as abused but feeling terrific;

our breakage points our dearest violins while a person is bent upon images; this revving engine this dingy transmission such ambiance and caricatures; as developed creatures living developed lives but evolution has yet to arrive; this fire flaming this field devoured these dregs so with me; to scream into ceilings, as no one answers, but God is so close.

I remove from you I die in you while you keep appearing.

If but this fuel this frantic force such autonomy in one so absent; to accurse self to love like winning while patience seems so weak; but a faux pas, but an angry claim, while I realize most respond to sincerity; this cavelike anxiety this world by depression while a psych is filled and screaming; to mince garlic to tenderize a steak or to dine with one that maimed mother; this hellish celestial, this remorse in a child, while watching and stagnated; such rich guilt, for a man as a child, with years raging in Watts.

I lost—this semblance—so designed as love; such arrogant or conceited even contradictory love; where a man is a mouse and this is madness but Love has destined to emasculate men; so spiritual or such satire if but to get him to look the other way. This road unfolding this pavement as devoted while a man clashes with pure evidence; to need perfection or to fill in the blanks while one parades and dances and laughs.

I become fluidity or matches or unkempt gasoline. I drift further I fall for attributes I proclaim nonsensical love. As a man lost and found, or a guitar missing a string, or a saxophone blaring its depression; as a soul at rampages or a humble theologian or one watching while wondering what in the hell—Am I listening to; this magnet in us this fair crystal aside beds or this person too alive to whisper, Death. Such curious patterns, to evaluate life, while feeling a bit shy.

It looks like seashores. Those shells speak a language. While something acute is singing to interiority.

Our distressors are familiar. Our pains are pivotal. While we attempt to relax. (So many graves…So little time…Into so many dominions.)

But angst instructs, if to listen in silence, while often noted as blue.      

Sky-Earth & Earth-Sky

Why have I loved in rooms discredited where something is unintended?

—into darker feelings as accursed at gates while we neither love you nor accept you; this middle haven this incredible alienation where an older person is by older rules; something opaque while wrestling for eye-contact in such a dilemma those radical bars; indeed, to hate you, or miles to dislike you, while it was predetermined; but beauty is radiant, and Love is outstanding, but we possess societal metallic; such ruthless rules, such rugged rails, while mother is mourning; at color exchanges while determined by eloquence where one has to work harder—

I sip a Rita and drift for a second while Love is sparking sage; our remarkable allusion into or onto something cagey; this music in others this cursed happiness as ignoring such raw gnawing; but a gorgeous gown, but grimacing groans, so hellish or so hurt; those years before, as not knowing behavior, where a woman never forgets; so bold by faces, to scream with remorse, I have done what you have done; such scrabbling such indecencies while a real man inhales his odors.

—onto a rare plateau or an ancient moon peering at aura; to have believed you any and everything as one needing courage; to have exhausted you so impure where we danced while so deep into this creek; to die like winning or to listen while you read at captivity and silence; so ripe for entrance where a man becomes lazy while another sees diamonds and jewels or plain exploitation; it’s hard to decipher it’s difficult to discern where secerns are incredibly selective; but a brilliant contour or grinding brains to witness such eloquent succession; this man so tipsy those nights so glorious where a man never needs for existence—

                                    those careful, indiscreet eyes—those hells so deliberate!

It was dear to life those feelings, to imagine this man, while Irish woes hit harder; to think that way, or to feel that way, while in actuality it doesn’t breathe those wires; as a remote being, so accustomed to honesty, for even if he won those tides would rage sexually; so more to our waterfalls or more to our oceans where a man realizes those boundaries.

Love is comforts or disease while a woman might do whatever to hold longevity; this crazy feud while both need control where a man might assert something she can’t fathom; this lagoon by circumstance this curtain by deviance or so far gone it never matters.

I adored us but unknowingly and I realized when hell broke castles; those seconds after childbirth those redeeming seconds prior to losing something that just wanted a child.

It could have been him or another or a mere donor!   

Hedges & Twigs: Acquired Souvenirs

(It was life after death. Those figs and loquats. Or dusty delusions and dirty. If to sing acapella means to stand lonely than many will join the choir.)

—I sat upon a settee. It felt like a divan. I then reached for an ottoman of books—

It felt like March while listening to sounds at the end of January. I remembered deer eyes, crow eyes, even unseen eyes. I browsed a catalogue, looking at a tuffet, and wondered about tomorrow: this timeless funeral those timeless emotions while we kneel near a monks’ bench. Days have been silent and feelings have been sharp and most are wondering about today.

I walked along a highway. Birds were swooping and air-swashing. But something was there: a poker-table a wine-rack, plus, someone’s chitzsu.

Later I awoke.

Those washed palms those screaming palms the travesty they’ve felt.

It would be years until I saw into something roughly gray; to have experienced someone to have mortar beneath nails where one argues to convince us: not by tragic-star but more surrender by a location that kills us; over coffee and cakes to evince something imaginary as if to un-pit something dormant: here’s a bag of flies, they will live forever, just give me your word; or here’s a dying legacy, and there is your child, what means more to you?

Later I saw wild feelings.

There is an outside banshee running with cobras both rattling and jingling chains.

It was seconds before explosion—those familiar questions—when one has provoked unstable circumstances: “Are you alright? Are you different? Have I done something?” Such embarrassed guilt where clarity says its justice but life would imagine one as crazy. The goal is utter control that deeper control such as only by utter submission.

Later I went to sleep.

Dreams turned to tremors, a voice slipped its reign, while a mother watched and listened; those rustic utterances those myriad tongues at both casket and castle; by registered paintings onto calmness exquisite after something hitting its high notes; as creatures unsung while we gnaw skies both found clothed and naked.

Inrushing doubts or a need for disconcertion at valleys and hills or landscapes and screams; by cadent doors or by candent fires at such flaming metals.

When Tables Grow Weary

Tell me locations into seafaring eyes as we dine upon fury. Tell me methods and periodicals or articles split by motion. Tell me it gets better while we die where hope is a glass of blood. Tell me darkness unveil its source as we cleave to insanity. Indeed, tell me lies and keep many secrets and when time comes disclose our universe.

The seagull was nigh. The banister was wobbly. The chair was mahogany.

Into rendezvous or renaissance or something prestigious; those inside galleries—inside our brains—while we muse upon skylights; such deeper atonement such rich abrasiveness while one grades our literature. It is an antiphon or more an anthem so caged in by silence; such inward singing such sounds exploding where our condition is taboo; to live encased in something unexplained while labelled or downsized; it kills wilderness it explodes reasoning and it touches forbidden realms. This displaced agenda those offhand remarks where one needs to know your name; this feather in trunks this sneeze such mucus while arriving as one incomplete; but it wasn’t by choice neither shall I forfeit it or ever but utterly that curse.

I wrote love-letters; I tuned mandolins; indeed, I was evilly honest to self…so quilted in time so excused through facts where most are not interested; our biggest let down, inside pure grayness, realizing—many are unconcerned; such devastation while I try desperately as needing this un-chanted negotiation.

The ambiance is the apparition wherefore perception is cloven wires.

I sensed familiarity into silence unbeknownst where Agony is intimate with features; such unspoken rapport such intimate gallantry while disputing tacit axioms; but a subtle convincing or a mincing of realities while I noticed blackness; such monographed feelings, to need a kind of converse, where something elicited is gratified. But we find seashells as echoing silence or this whoosh in our brains.

Such credence in few such radiant beauty in politeness such secret cultism; our milieu is phantom—our curse is openness—our joys are closing gates; so many as apprentice where mastery is required at terrible concerns. Such indigo plants such florescent deepness while uncured or gunning into terrific ambiguity; at rich shrapnel at abyss-city while losing something too dear to reknit.

It would cave-in or soar gently right before his eyes; she would unchamber essence or act so cryptic into crevices meant for intimacy; so numbing in us or so curious in us while we never quite relate in us; a teardrop to sanity, an abstract art, such nectar for one restricted.

Invasions Seeming a Galaxy

What flew its reigns to abscond with heart so argent or ardent while you scurry.

Into elicit darkness at

depth-illusion

to want but needs or

infatuations; so

cursed to have lived such

facets exploding to know pure disqualification;

while abused by dreams so floored by

majesty or

to feel if we tried

contagion;

so genteel or raging at sectors where I haven’t uttered the catalyst;

into blue symbols at jazzy sorrows

by rare neural conditions;

to have lived those spaces so

afraid to return where

most refuse the harness;

at gallops so enlove by

reflection to have both lives

curdled by deaths.

to have enflamed while it wasn’t captured those screams into weariness; such impolite piano or such an intrusive violin where cymbals posed as contusions; by dimmer lamps or trestle fires to have invested too much—for winds were unpoetic or skies were unvocal where death wouldn’t become subsumed; those days lurching this lounge vigil at too much luggage to board. but a modest refusal or unassuming flames where regret overwhelms a sea-less horizon; both spells and concentration accursed a sensitive psyche while never a sound utters motivation; into such realism where a body is convulsions while souls must unmask:

the tragic earth those opalescent wounds at plangent survival;

to have lived by delusion to have sung while livid where a poet arrives at shores;

such wretched acceptance or wrenching agency as wilderness responds.

so dreamlike to have sparked life while anchors are mental!

The Swan Grooms Itself

so many thoughts in you or such direction where smiles are courageous.

a posy of roses such florescent aromas while we scream into pillows.

such powerful unrelation such deeper contradiction while some books become scraping skies. to envelope by sentiments or a gracious harmony at feelings playing tug-of-war; as adoring your resilience but careful to hear your cry in an environment where we ignore dying.

the

table is silent

the music is inaudible

where kittens are resting softly.

such spotless frustration such evident havoc where reality is not important; to begrudge happenstance, or to understand facts, while it just doesn’t matter; for when one is right the other is wrong and that is the song of this chorus.

                                    should

                                    one assert love into a voided sky

                                    where rain rests upon brow?

it becomes rich analyses over spotted fens where mayflies point to perception. it becomes living for realities or shunning realities while feeling insecurities; for if home-base is skewed, life is uncentered, where people begin to look displaced; those roaring concerns into this roaring lion while others are playing pattycake.

there is virtue in deliberateness or culture in resistance while agony in unknowingness; but to life as it was, or to pavements as they are, where too many stacked eggs begin to crack.

so lunar, suffused or pious at galaxies too far to touch; or classical dilemmas abased or low such clashing elements; to assert love as it seems appropriate but it changes nothing; who cares for his love, in a world seeming a vacuum, while those pillows were moist those feelings? as critical emotion spins into dynamic force while all one knew was absence; so many reasons or so many convictions while rationale has been inculcated. No-longer an individual, but more a parakeet, where I long to meet the individual.

We become feverish visionaries. We perish our dearest expectations.  

Existence is Vague, So, Humans are Vague

It gets somewhere listening to hissing, there, wondering, about snakes; this field of bushes where tumbleweed is wild while skies are unclear deserts; so voiced but unheard so pure but uncured while I walk with you. I’ve lost something but it was never mine where I claimed kinship; to dye our tears to accumulate our buckets insomuch as creative fire.

I would fly into nights such an abject creature while others were to fault: deep dark drains or faucets following fevers as we assume our art.

It was you those weary skies while something has replaced us; maybe another vehicle or maybe an instrument while a chipmunk strums a mandolin; to adore a utensil by strict utility or sudden aloneness where bleakness rustles; for Love was insecure plus Love was angry while something pure was distressed; our capable minds our winning auras where something happens after thirty-five.

Absence becomes meditation where we fit people in as such to categorize existence; seating and coughing or mellow into a mood where fire might ignite; or studying Christ at a deep cleft while misunderstanding our soteriology.

I was with needs to fathom something so rich it was hard to taste; such purpose in screams or relaxed and missing life while no matter our gift bags we feel something missing.  

  

I knew not duration but it had to peter-out

for it wasn’t receiving…

indeed, lioness or sphinx or mongoose—this churn into vacancies this lot of potatoes while after something such dear cloudberries; it realizes subtleties where a man spoke in haste while so much is dependent upon what is said; to agitate something trained where it needs submission it becomes an up the mountain boulder. It appears quickly like sparks and metals while it vanishes into wilderness; or something deeper our resonating fires to ponder one so close to a furnace; but turquoise excitement or terror to feel while most men have a mixed self-portrait.

—but you soar like flames so saddened so electric to have mercy or to make spirits fly—while most can’t see your dangers; a stressed temper a mean terminal but too polite while poking good humor; to know a man’s frustration or to see his hesitance while prodding into his shadows—

I retreat into ambivalence while something is distinguished insomuch as memorized channels. I disown a piece of me while regathering a piece of me to find some things are inalienable; those carry-along antennae those algae thoughts where toads are becoming frogs; but a thought to disappear but a feeling to address facts while I wonder how we’re both correct. Such strenuous dislikes while remaining unspoken where a man is hated for not guessing rightly:

those pits and muddy waters those scorpions and stingers into touchy nebulosity.     

We Seem Apparent but Faces are Confused

I appear to myself—an aircraft—bogged or wired by perceptions. This furious mountain or this furious language where most ignore you until you bring it home.

I was young or naïve at something unprepared while many need two to three lovers; this insecure curse or this misorientation while most humans are feeling abandoned; by grace we adore them where youth is screaming and we might forgive them; but something is premeditated in order to extract affection while realizing this disconnect: “I know wrongness, but I must seem adorable, where I sale a particular phantasm.” Such a deep misfortune such un-healing while I must carry this into my next fortuity; indeed, fire is critical, where love is unlikely, while I must fail to succeed. This veil hurting me, this patience killing me, this unknowingness so debilitating!

I lug a drink into fiery quarters while filming myself; those heiress rites those beautiful Europeans while I run from Africa.

—so indoctrinated so jasper or jasmine and leering in-and-out of mirrors—this trick in souls this indelible feeling while too cursed to utter emotions—

I saw something geisha or something courtesan while framed in fears; this regretful understanding this dreaded remorse while a smile said flirtation; to remove my senses or too much to handle at microscopes those days; this feeling too late this vest so crazed or penchants for something too sad to cure. Where pain is physical, while luxurious beauty, into something too gray to defog. But a sensuous second battling a callous moment insomuch to lose a delicate tear.

Those Sirens giggling or mothers concerned or grandparents seeing patterns; to adore parts of an image or to swear by greater absurdities where one is thrown into disfiguration; as bashful creatures living bashful lives while nothing seems quite permanent; those eyes so determined or this war we take seriously while a woman protects her home; so one-sided or too opaque while flattery seems to change our spaces; but beauty was effaced or gorgeous was erased while he hawked and raved until one felt ugly.

—or something delightful this forcefield where two are paired quite irrevocably—

as crucial debaters to exist by wrangling in such havens by disguise; our deliberate devotion into silent salience so automated or treasured animation.

It was pash those moments but a man feels gruel or cursed or alive into realization. 

Most Humans are Hiding Essence

I was treated unfairly—into this event—while I reflect on those pillars; these reasons behind actions, these fires simmering or stirring or saturated with lime; this frigidity this freezer at feelings unbecoming; where one is absorbed into something fragile while fleeing behavioral conscienceness.

—but we leave that over there and we swim to shore while untangling kelp from our ankles—

It was morning with you this maturation into relations while I fiddled with illusions; it was dance or heart at purple or turquoise; to redeem what never flew or to fly so grounded while alienation seems appropriate; those pains we feel or such rejection or thoughts breaking pages; at summer eyes or long flowing dresses if but to look while being admired; our reasoning deceiving us or our days brought to joys if but such reverberation.

But it was unfair and we determine our cries into muddy lagoons; attempting to decipher, or looking at premeditation, where it is familiar to sense lies; our courage to saturate our dreams to soar as children lost in daydreams.

Into something peculiar…

one becomes a menace somewhere trapped while despising their children; flamed by alcoholism or this addict’s dungeon while life is multiple distortions; just looking that way—I have seen this countenance—while observers are forced to play pretend; slurring come midnight or someone sensitive where it is held with balance; evil to black knights at woes with white falcons or dear to jealousies with female doves; such sharp shrapnel such hellish hounding at this face praising autonomy; indeed, a terrible human, a frustrated-blind human, at terrors, havens and lies.

Into something attractive…

one becomes a beacon this expansive soul this creative parachute; to adore their children, to drink with moderation, and to manage their dungeons; as wonderful humanitarians giving light to darkness but a delightful person to know; such depth in sorrow such reaching beauty while only a few are privy; those marvelous protégés those favorite smiles while aggravated over bitter winds; to die for fun to lace young teens while dealing on God’s Level.

Into something existential…

we sense something extraordinary into a land of silence where we incur resistance; our conditioned screams, our terrible vices, at pains or gems or both; to have us at dens to pet our lions after soulprints have confused our legacy; our treasured predicament, while no one but everyone is watching; as never a palm to become too engrossed where the weather is always coldness; such accidental creatures into fairer fantasies and too aloof to make connections.     

The Saga is Unraveling

I tell it on the mountains such complex habits where a man forces his allegiance.

I found in you but attraction those rosary relations so real to something unsteady.

            to

plead forgiveness in a world needing shame if but to reflect upon all those wolves. (it was anxiety to cross paths it was disaster to break free as it was love to ignore spirit.)

those extinct alleys those moving snails as accursed waiting on release; those millpond thoughts those ducks and geese just watching if but for food; to crawl that way to put life to skies so dedicated so determined or sweet fragments.

            Something would die with us this innocent young boy while adulthood is cutthroat.

When I first saw you such deep distraction where reality speaks softly; such whetstone wishes such wrangling inside if but that life if but those dreams.

I sit facing mirrors looking disturbed or looking confused.

I rebuild at intervals so situated to come across a coyote’s gaze; upon a candle at interior screams while I invest too much in imagination—this terrible tricycle those alarming training-wheels while a man is so grown and so uncertain; this design as meant, if but to befuddle, where one is then pliable.

It was sweet terrific into a spiral where nothing made sense; but Love was abrupt, and Love would mock, or but a fool such passion!

but a kettle whistling but tragic beauty into dungeons to find music; this swarm of orphans this city of thieves while elders are preparing for eternity.

If but to seize our cries if but worthy of those vines as one musing upon a kite; such grains of sand, a palm of sea, surrounded by kelp and mud; so buried in mind, or stationed before mercy, while most are too infatuated.

I have effaced action but mind-grip still yearns where reason points towards its exit; to persist in night-scares or to feel restrictions while one is pure concentration; as to exhaust a reservoir, to the anger of others, where we have nothing linking our allegiance; those perfumed hallways or this removed door while walking into strange forests; midnight day-fire, or terrible intuition, where a man ignores his brains just to rest: those comforting delusions, or pure deliberateness, at something carrying deposits:

if but this dimension if but perfect unison but we find that most everything is similar.

Sky-Whelmed Hourglasses

We broach mortality, those last hours, at reaper concerns.

—or holy salience by deep ocean repentance while crowded by loneliness; such opacity so refilmed in eyes traveling picture-museums; to cry dryness to fertilize deserts in such a rush to refrain; surrounded by wilderness, coached by sadness, if but one more almanack—

Our last datebook our filthy diary where guilt is heavy; those hours by contrition, or a meditative life, while family feels frantic; so unreleased or so uncomfortable or at such alarming peace.

This station by fire, this interim so vigilant, with measurements and rulers.

Into sweeter music our cores by beliefs where many are in wonder: The New Jerusalem, into a Second Coming, where such controversy has hit our ears.

Our wars inside those lakes by purgatorial flames or something our bodies called into clouds; or transmigration

or incarnation

while fettered and worried depending deeply into meadows;

our foreign containers those herbs with spices or this dire resurrection;

to have come by flesh even bones and so vulnerable.

Clocks are so immediate the whisper of those hands while dreary pawing our sanity.

—so determined to have lived

so with courage to have stayed

into something like a vortex—

                        those final smiles those last kisses our eyes closing one last dimension.

“I have sought the greatest in many. I have delivered the best in me. I relinquish this earthly habitat.”

Into orbit this fair belief or returning to sediments; such tillage’d grounds such farming reality such delicate souls; to have cultured relatability to have nurtured charity or to have tended both widows and orphans; to have fought the fight in accordance to those instruments at something proving difficult to efface; those awesome lights cased in brilliant darkness to receive answers oiled by insistence; ashes and dust, or coffin and grave, while many conjure the best our lives.