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.
