to
pave undertones or rhythmic forests presumed in every sediment; this life of
blueprints or those eyes watching while something is casual.
so
determined to meet our undercurrent magnetism while so repulsed.
such
exotic essence where one is excited like rebellious students; so agitated about
rights so inflamed over injustices so clear so concerned.
upon
daffodils those screaming auras while anxious to infuse—such lost dialogue such
magenta kisses while most people live pure contradiction.
I was found guilty—this
extent in reversals—where we gauge, or figure an appropriate behavior; it stems
from preservation, it lives in experience, but it can’t make heads nor tails of
black travesty: its effects, its determinates, or its modes of activity—where the
majority are systematic, or deeply emotional, or at times, dearly illogical; to
imagine such a spell where others are irresponsible, and, thus, another has
taken jurisdiction over their breathing.
I sense
it matters not—the sun-kissed exposure, or those minutes filled but indefinite;
our measures but subtle drums our confusion but dear aches while it shouldn’t
matter this last year; to want something while remaining balanced as imagining
this mystery and heart; such coldness, where it’s justified, while some erase
their heritage; as claiming something gray or believing in myths where destiny
seems so forward.
It felt like serenity,
it chanced alienation, where awkwardness is self-imposed; our days at placation
our souls
unoccupied
or filled with mire and
minerals.
Those amaranth
eyes those lighthouse talents while so distant we’re sensing nearness; as
unruly essence to give but little while hurt for something we call honesty;
such quizzical activity or miles to Greenland or years running nonstop; at
images or wilderness by meadows and shadows—designed by bestiality or received
by chaos or too understanding to quite fix.
