some
go low pleading fire where creeks abandon water. such bleeding mercy or dense
excuses while adamant concerning faith. I was sworn out, the tides were
unsteady, we were drying those years. (we pass through people. we comprehend
our desires. we never see the people we love.) it’s such mystery, as so close,
where horns disrupt our lenses. I noticed something. it alarmed me. but I was silent. we anoint feelings, they advertise by
emotions, while I fret inadequate qualifications.
often, it takes greater damages, before we
seek salvation: the tortured soul, those dear loses, by flame afforded one last
adventure. near a lake inside a
desert, the valleys are raining. we
debate medieval mysticism, or emotional accounts, or activated autonomy. the sun is basking those feelings are
rising where we pause or take refuge.
such mental printmaking, such stark futurism, where lights are demonstrative.
we often say things, while void of
measurements, while you have a different dilemma. you examine words. you know
what things to say. you are conscious of other people.
this is a masterpiece in you. we take
imposition, turn it into a symphony, to the disappointment of many souls.
it belongs to brushwork, such room for opportunity,
while such phrases are becoming trite.
I hear galleries, I pass the Getty, I drift
concerning those missing elements.
it was overdue. but excuses are boorish. but
just maybe, we need a different certitude.
we
call it love. it moves swiftly. every tentacle is a rapture. (such digitized
humans, such floating, while nothing is calculated. one has a dozen guitars, another
has ten violins, where no one has been informed. such easy-goings, such mathematics,
while no one is doing arithmetic.)
it’s unfair to souls it’s a lake mourning
it’s a mind needing a bulwark. we asked a soul, his greatest strength, where he
stated it was resilience. this isn’t a go-to, it’s a reality, where others are
saying something universal.
I am hurt in hurting you, while my mind is
at war, where something has been extracted.
