I
sit patiently while gazing at ash where bones are frustrated.
I
met a bulldozer this bull-dog caught to reason with steeliness.
Our mechanic airwaves or those
torturous beauties wrestling mortality; accustomed to unfair feelings while
beefing countenance but something tender; those higher falls, those rubber-band
fences while most are coerced by treason; so close to me such strangeness to me
where one act was noticed—these indoor clumps or outdoor façades where it has
become its viciousness; our aches screaming our status demented while sane
enough to defuse humanness; occasioned to die at liaison with wilderness such
angst by grit so torn so underrated; as born suffering or political hostage
where no one has paid the ransom.
It
is never good or even bad it is pure correctness or aberration.
Such
semantics in a land your friend while laughing over turmoil; such restitched
emotion or running so freely to have but a dozen fixed beliefs; so accomplished
as always altruistic to have loved receiving but charity; such a delicate rose
so fair in season while instilling space-fire.
How has it occurred—this wicked
tangle, our web but transition? To have so much while bothered by an ant in
such a sense to act lowest character; this furious feature this flailing flame
so frantic so ferocious; to need disagreement to relish in that rush as one so
desired by creation.
I
sound mean as one affected while life has been its ride; so embarrassed at
seconds listening to inner dialogue while convinced those sky-ferns, those
weeds, were meant for realities; to censor innateness or to overthrow something
inherent while preferencing kinder discourse; such wailing whales such tugging
harpoons to harp in seas no one listens!
I guise deeper, carrying
a few chasms, if to alienate—I must confront self: a man with bars a dreamer
through scars so near to life but too afar; reading inadequacies or touching
several needs while realizing great responses are by development; through mountainous
debris this built castle while our faces are screen gates; to need a certain
air, better yet, a feeling, in order to peel like humans; our dungeon
capriciousness or our careful discoloration so damned for our honesty; where it
happens quite normally, this fierceness in souls, as designated to take another
person lower; such pain in eyes or such evenness in eyes where I admire such
strength.
Such Otherness as sulfur.
Such political bridges. Where we are made to war. (This pain as truth, pent
against colors, while steel structures persist with laughter.)
