I
would wonder, as someone crazy, where others experience rapture. such
unflinching love, or its misidentity, by a man asking for too much: soul
soundness, interior worship, so broken it feels good. so empyrean such silken
gowns such sweet liquor. to come closer, or by roots to his grave, while
ignorance is a false luxury. isolated dialogues at ruthless treasuries while no
one agrees—the pain the waves while it’s incredible to feign our fortune. by
temblors to see us or caged loving our captors at rare silence or imbalance. so
low in volume so valued above creation so creative with love so dead a mythic
shower. our interrogation, that first rule, if not on camera it wasn’t me!
where others lock ghosts, they sing terror as if too complex to die. a
masterpiece heart an opus soul or tender those skies as life would suffer. born
mystical those days with inadequacies as if such the perfect fit. laughter so vivid
or desire making prisons while to look at something too wise. beating
saxophones or giggling piccolos while we try like feudal. by sculptress minds
or mentor aches to look intent to scream and stumble into love. I ex you out.
it seems sublime. I stand close enough to maintain. as never full reality or
univocal flames where two are ushered into each other. thunder or firebrand those
years those compliments, if to rise into particles. at frantic fevers or oxymoronic
pathos where one tries to love according to sheer logos.
