I
placed you so high where streetcars zoomed while slave of my chest. This ugly
wilderness those coppice brains or sylvan personality-meadows; aloof to shadows
where shadows chase while one is aware of our shadows; but music or offshoots
stemming from chaos—into mirrors sitting in chandeliers; to remember you, a
sweeter travesty, a patient debacle; as underwent blushing or mortification so
unseasonably at ribbons and screams into savage serenity; to ignore upholstery
or feng shui furniture while omitting to redecorate; such metallic black, such
horror in us, or so close it alarms to converse in us; to mimic raja while
I project silence or we sing Bhakti such underwater loudness. We desire
some reprieve but this is so personal while it eats at something so dear; a
rancid or stale texture, something odiferous, or something residing in our
homes; to shift so quickly, I do admit, I had to catch up; the sting of death,
or the poison of disenchantment, or to imagine a human triggered by behavior;
or by an ink-pen, so shallow a device, to move it too quickly to disguise; or
that response, to find such joy, where a man is agitated. I wonder for
documentation, to fill a page with nuances, or to fudge a little at the
margins. It becomes religiosity, or quasi-collisions, so tender those first few
presumptions; to unlock an oath or to play nice where behavior is contingent
upon satisfaction; those underbelly frustrations or this dreg’s reality while
surrounded an entire life by addicts; this rare relation those differing calibers
or to function so highly life becomes piano; so many ghosts or so many pottery
houses while many lives are on repeat; to distinguish softly this deep
realization to imagine he must deal with my reflection; or a major factor, this
blade in skies, where discomfort begets discomfort; as creatures steeped in
humanities, to conjure hatred for humans, it seems so unlikely; but good
humans, but good feelings, but loving and kind and sincere humans.
I
am cautious to do this, but I concede, concerning our future addicts; those
simulators, or deep dark contempt, or rationalization cutting too swiftly;
Aerotek glass, or higher up doors, or those fifth and sixth inhalations; our
inward clocks or this endless feuding while one is sober but selfsame behavior;
as young amateurs arranging chairs or debating where to sit; this life of
pictures where some never see color or imagine a bright turquoise sky; to
deviate now, at unrealized contention, where we do more than we opted for; such
silent painters, living inharmonious lives, while claiming our days as
enlightened souls; this pain for me, this deep contradiction for me, while
ideally, a theologian doesn’t feel this way. Such esteem upon titles, to
imagine a psychiatrist as this methodical, communicating, orthodox machine;
this unfettered creature or this celestial cherub into dynamics and crevices
unlikely to falter; this moral majesty, or this ought-magician, so cured so
together such exemplary behaviors; akin to a psychologist, this pursuit for
perfection, this higher up elevation—those roses half-alive those cups needing
ice or those skies at furious determination; indeed, such deliberate
descriptions, such realization, while it should be safe—but it isn’t idyllic. We
exist as dragons, we fly as dinosaurs, our minds are islands and dungeons and
unredeemed characteristics; those traits we cherish, as investigated dearly,
while we are watched but not monitored; at seabirds or oceanic beasts while
blueness becomes the machine; our supercell thoughts, our quasi-grandiosities,
or glasses operating through feelings; to need certain treatment, or to be
evasive, while emotion is discomfort; such deceptive voltage, it was too
immediate, it was too easy.
