I’ve
restudied this, such correct lunacy, such distant family; to desire normality,
where disorder resides, our temperaments dislocating closure.
To blame mountains
to harvest wolves while a young woman outlived her son; such a tragic loss,
four men in hatchbacks, plus, a random shot; the mother passed in haste, but
strong in faith, to plead the judge for their mercy. This pain I feel, this
anima I live, while broken in halves. If but those wishes, to adore like
charity, but a man asking for deliverance; our mangled harps or tender
catastrophe or backing down this first passion.
By internality to
review mistakes where there isn’t room for forgiveness; but this harsh man,
those fragile egos, plus, deep impassivity; to become an android, or to seem
dispassionate while walking away from pain; this lamp on high, this pill for
sprinkles, or this eye seeming treacherous; if but predicaments to unleash a
linchpin our courage is but for survival; but Love is decent or dearly partial,
as never for this grade of dust.
By dirt
and water by grace or faces while we live with ourselves.
I’ve restudied
this this range of intuition while sipping existence; to sense literature or to
desire structure where most are dependent upon discipline; to imagine grayness,
to believe in sameness, or so cultured it doesn’t hold weight. Such revealing
passages such radiant women while we wouldn’t dare imagine—those charms or such
sabotage into graves and catacombs.
it
was
deeper than suggested. it
altered
perception. it wouldn’t die by inactivity. a man to his seahorse, or
sky-faucets to existence while wondering if a creature is but human;
as
nerves grow by friction or leniency becomes its challenge
into
darker lights; a soul by disaster while beauty is ferocity but physicality is
impossible; to ask for privacy, to proclaim a handicap, after
something
that shall never remain.
I can’t
claim, Honey, but
something
keeps us present, while a soul is mis-occupied; our celosia is weary, our
saxophone is tender, and our hearts are primroses;
to
outwit sanity to enter that larger door or found screaming for that narrow
path; as
fevered
children, so allergic it hurts, where
pure
mud felt serene; as minds watching, but it never would matter,
souls
are content with hatred; to adore passivity, where colors are disowned, into
caves such reservoirs; to deface naturality, or discard compassion, while
feeling so technical.
