I can’t find me. I
stepped out of a bottle. meds are heavy. I’ve thought it through, by want of an
episode, saturnine, if just one river. some waterfall, pardon my saying, “some,”
most noble, exclusive miracle. doing right is hard. appealing to cosmos is unilateral.
it seems more negotiation. I feel nauseous as more into reclusiveness a smaller
feeling. sundown lakes, bodies in limbo, many smoke something stronger. I flicked
fury as fretted in fuel some location living inside me. I attacked. Syria was
with pride. Assyria was lethal. some space in Bethlehem. a group called by wisdom.
juveniles rereading John I. I would grip a rocket, hit exospheres, return
by parachute; numb, notorious, facing dishonor. it means little, in this age,
with lithium made of sodium. famous films, art academy, we live our movies. a
time too terrible as trademarks on souls, a man learns to surrender. I can’t
predict much, aside for irritation, in a climate breeding courage. underground
slavery, mental bravery, it alarms how much influence some souls have—over clarity
in clarion states so loud an electric underpinning. if one is unsure, gaze back
six months, attempt to locate a source. Matthew as Gospel. hearts as voices.
many have left an indenture, an imprint—sure fierce fiery cylinders, collective
we might say, denied entrance, seated in absolution. Tibet has a song for
spirits. Hindus have an art for spirits. most chase to understand esoteria—those
trials we undergo, those things we can’t accomplish, those triumphs we soon
achieve.
