I was bred by
discreetness—as an indiscreet man; this hilarious element this sunshine
appreciation while listening to winds.
We would die those
years!
So many smiles or
alertness while skies are toppling; to imagine his faux pas, this city thunder,
those vexing interims; so curious we live while it dawns on me a grown man
plagued by quintessence; this feeling of hibernation, or this glass mirror, or
days knowing I can’t understand; this raw estate this leakage into humanity
where some realities seem dismissive.
I relocate
thoughts these noetic creatures while linked to something impervious; those
feelings by harsher weather or a neat disenchantment—to exist like lemurs
such innocent
observation or forced to outlive my cries.
It
seems ridiculous.
But time
is relentless.
I don’t
know love this hard confession but I know passion and gifts and togetherness.
Love
is heart-mental
It devastates
by touch
It is
this understanding (Western) we have about God.
Such
strong assertion to awaken my spirit while I do not wish to speculate.
This
is not our time and beauty is contentious while admiration is debatable; to
exist this life, as a running to you creature, so filled with light and
crystals and turquoise feelings; to live sporadically, as loose as free-verse,
while yearning for concrete everlasting; this dying fever this rushing river so
cured in an instance we can’t maintain.
Those
ancient desires so long our quarters while we contend, they don’t exist.
So aged
in this region, so pushed to wrangle after gold and rhinestones and marquise
diamonds. Our inner twigs as they crackle to realize one has trespassed; such
big daring eyes, such longer limbs, so into our stream;
so
much to have untortured so much to have collected as souls too close for
pavement.
