what drives sanity
into insanity? what yearns more than reasonable?
skies in tuxedos.
woman in skies. deliverance made enchanting.
haunting smiles,
graves walking, no one knows about innocence.
born during poetry,
fashioned in prose, I need to feel insane for someone.
aside a wooden
dresser sits a pen—I need to rewrite myself.
the Nile has been
discussed, most need to return, what would make for happiness?
I wonder about the
depth of Sandra Beasley, chestnuts and motifs. if it becomes tremors?
much ado over
Tibetan Mysticism, less to Margery Kempe.
to mimic
suffering, to find answers, a soul intrigued by his obsession.
what drives
mysticism?
we might reminisce
on Sarada Devi.
more upon a mandolin,
more into a soul, complete aches and pangs, to give until it feels relational,
until harmony subsumes, like never a different future.
