I
sense you the mirror’s mimic or one famed by echelon. but an infant that palm
but dice or rubies if but a tender sky. tragedy or instruction, fields, pots or
sinks—at treasuries a bit confused or blues blaring. I would censor self those
deep portals while analyzing by binoculars; the fret of existence those bars on
brains the irony so close to its wedding. to fumble or tumble, to laugh or
lunge while most desire pliable persons. something easy so subsumed or better
something quite quiet—that raging man the fierce beast while something encrypts
his perception. those stars by charm, such astrology with fire, where some are
chasing grander conceptions. you must have thoughts or convictions or dreams
and visions or larger picture realities. if but to exist as opposed to living
where the world is adventure—or cellphone thunder about a dozen friends or a
gregarious soul. to become fuel to purchase a scream or marquise diamond
pictures, as racing creatures against a thirsty universe where one might hate
you for seeming bright: our children those waves, our souls our graves, while
most just need a cup overflowing. you have mind-matter a flaring heart an adorable
family. you may sing in unison, believe in cohesion, or fight for dear life to
prove a point. by inlet fires or flames or picturesque performances, to have
patience such trailing jazz.
