the
sun was out all night. this was some time ago. I sat in misunderstanding. a
mind floated in its quarters—visions plagued perception—a mistletoe was on the
floor. I saw a statue—heard irregular science, a symphonic ocean, or opus, or
mental ink. the moon was inverted. days, weeks, bottled into one moment. stars
would rendezvous with space, appearing suddenly, quilted by memories.
it
seems easy for misfires, made into shadows, the mind is a garage, a storehouse,
a parasol for inkblots. what unfolds is activity—sensory details, watching a
blurred image.
sweetest
kindness, intense euphoria, chaotic sequences—hassled interior, gallery ideas,
quicker stillness, quicker movements. capturing mobility, as it paints pictures,
at seconds, a sensory scent; upon twine, linking dimensions, thrummed like
strings.
singing
softer atonement—made into absolute reception—effecting mind-aura; voiceless mandates,
capricious insights, seated in empty fullness.
an
opalescent gem, fraught by unreality, as it never felt so real. most, in with
knowledge, see it as intensity, might act with reception; made of rhythm, a
tear in silence, mystique, a glint into another element.
I
think about connectivity.
in
a given state, if mind is heaven, what makes for unclarity? to get closer,
pushed back, made indelicate in science.
I
must be without an agenda—to determine facts—to stumble upon earth’s mystery/agenda.
if I hunger, this is normal, if I receive, this is incredible.
