I
try to warmup, I try to stay cold, I seem confused. —but harnessed eyes or
radiance by contour to imagine something mental. to idolize beauty, in all of its
gadgets, so sore concerning or forego; a bashful heart, or too familiar, while
we fore-churn intimidation. I try to warmup or to unstudy feelings as creatures
demented saintly. we have to smile, weakness by strength, or casualties making
peace. I do apologize. the poet was tipsy. the tense in us gets gruesome. —but
alien souls, active in battle, or world wide warriors; to chance an emotion or
something futile where otiose passions cause insecurities; to die sweetness to
cause a fire or to reminisce upon sexual plurality. our pragmatic minds our
spiritual elements after something too gray to proclaim: as never enough, or at
times, a miracle, or so threshed one winnows our sanity; a wonderful wife, an
endearing husband, where we eventually slow down. if but to love as cosmic exclusiveness
we might find it exhilarating, the curse of addiction, the carelessness of the
catapult, so gifted in business so adored in person where a mere observation
streams into a fantastic affair. I try to warmup but a purposed dream, if but
by legendary manifest—to consume us, to baptize our nightmares, as souls
abandoned to fields or fires of frames.
