By
helium our dementias as creative keepers while warring in high places.
Such
language for fire such origination in scripture or such powerful grandparents;
but sentimentality or
rounds unheard of in something too close to heart.
Your magic mind your
mental catapults while feeling your spirit; this designed blessing this morbid
curse while many are air-fire; but such blooming love such a looming passion
while unsure of what to adore.
Our miracle machinery our
long debates as one with a few loving friends; this battle in life this cage we
prevail or those dear seconds in solace.
To touch his hemline
or to float in screams while portraits tell partial realities; those radical
points this deep affinity so close but realism hurts; as needing a fair shake
or required to tuck tail while length of days are so short; a bosom of immortalities
a chasm of darkness or light so brilliant it reneges.
This fair warfare this
trench we devour or this music we eat; as critical cabinets or huts upon
longevity to die wishing in tornadoes; such glamorous roses such fair
butterflies at lacewings unbeknownst to the thinking agent.
I
feel something clearly in this ecosphere by precision or so close to home
venturing afar is skeptical.
Such
a halo or dreaming by shadows where profanity appears funny.
(Sore
shocking souls, or curious clever concaves, at autonomy or fevered induced
flame-gravity).
Rhetoric
becomes emphatic
by
a land crying
where
fear is tantamount;
our activity account, our
imagery-void, where one is writhing in silence.
It seems apparent while
searching suitors or cavalier where thoughts erupt.
This agony of media-souls
while feeling a sudden shift insomuch as battling to feel indifferent.
Purely saxophonic or knitted
by clarinets at such black blue traces; to crush emotion or to bury intensity
where I must ask—when does it dissolve?
I
confess to negligence, by tragic circumstances, but it’s up to you to dissect
the material.
Yes,
much searching by rain or more responsibility: but if one is to let go, they
should have the facts; else, the condition lingers, where sentiments
build, while resentments are sure to attract.
I
never understood love:
but love is an ingredient
it besprinkles the soul where seasoning touches soil & a roast remains
uncooked; love is passion or untouched harvests where fruit remains ripened;
love is furious feelings or constant agitation where dying seems unfair; love
is mystic concrete or abstract bones while love is so colorful our portraits
are invisible. Love is clashing sentiments or bendy metal of ferric softness;
love groans at night by something incredibly beyond description insofar as
something felt beyond containment; love laughs ironically while love is
tenuously weak insomuch as love powers through doubts reaching for faith; indeed,
love is without control love is devotional & love is unclarity.
I
give something, albeit, too much, but to feel it, is to spring into life.
