—it
haunts me by fire this old countenance while pain is reaching; it dies or
reincarnates while Love just made life; this mental rivet this chase those
concerns; to have adored delusion to have sung distressors where the challenge
was palpable; but a volt to register or cages to subdue while a man is first an
animal; such sleet or snow or icy planes so seduced by a mere aura; this crazed
man this dare-devil maniac at tears concerning a mirage; if but to feel
emptiness if but to be filled by illusion while becoming too volatile; so many
coils into so many ropes while those souls are black lagoons; but a little tar
or something stronger if but to placate a need; while it must be me and it must
be them while disposition is incurable—
Love is an artform such
driven hats where few are in agreement; the many protest or preach or
something where flame is unchartered; but a face by hearth but earth to
explosions where appropriate behavior isn’t good enough. But Love is machinery
or a fragile sunset where colors are deep dissonance; such appetite, such
in-bursting, into a murky moonrise.
Dewdrop
eyes or raindrop florescence at fury concerning negligence; no response, is but
a response, while it is never us; this godhead fire this plethora of boards
while a ship was just discovered; but way over-there, this silent observer,
this cloudy, sunburnt texture; so intricate or such cynosure while something is
vying for control; the symbol of morning or the beauty of vagueness where a man
is finding reality illogical—this uncanny field this perspective-feng shui,
where analyses depend upon furniture and its location.
Those widows with candles
or their christic entourage or that one friendly nun; to exempt humanity, as
rising over instincts, where there’s carnage and grime and coverup; such a
sweet-sounding voice to imagine its inhabitance while a man wishes upon a
seraph.
But
a booklet, with everyone embedded, where something has determined our screams!
It
was too much to decipher and too cold to get warm plus the pudding was soggy;
such sodden to groans such dizzying whispers while life swoons into pictures at
galleries; such pillars of goodness, while those thin lines, so encouraged to vindicate
a dream; as nothing is in you and something is in me where some people can do
no wrong. This fretful horizon while a man cogitates where one has induced
rumination; to imagine a person so subtle where it must be for rain; this
pouring inrush this fiery sun-whelp so wicked so wretched or so wonderful.
Such
breathless attributes such fierce agendas such rhythm or rumor or rage.
To chisel something
crooked to align it made straight while everyone is looking at an irregularity;
this slant in me this building falling in me or tender concern while one-hand
lunges at me.
