wives are studying whispers. systems
are swaying in the breeze. myriads of inquiries, twenty-years into magic,
suspicious, as we do. currencies deep into hearts, driven jaguars, particular
voice-voltage: reaching essence, biting caricatures, days undressing gut
instincts.
in the distance, speaking to self,
the mind thinking without notice. the visitors are human, implementing change,
esoteric familiarity—a mystery to souls, gifted customs, soul-fares and
trollies. impressions are dangling, they are mixed: on one hand, one is
disliked, on another level, one is admired … this is one sided, I am certain.
the soul is amazing, many prayers a
day, many dreamers in spaces.
I have censored self. I’ve been
lenient on censoring self. but I have learned about the legacy.
too many obstacles—we keep running,
so further away from each other. the leaping feels like esoteria, the leaping
is human, we see something at different levels.
stung by the reality of an
unrelenting anger, where nothing is imposition enough.
wrestling with ideas, accursed for
impetuosity, where the minister is undercut.
seeing others as one sees pandas,
one was trained in Vietnam, battles tapping into a different self.
historic camps. too much
concentration. human abilities are pivotal.
the eastern moon, the angelic
sunshine, the lady floating inside.
freedom is captured and released.
joys are present and then disappear. happiness might be overrated.
Love is brilliant, reminded of
affinity, a ghost walking in chains. an aesthetic goose, a golden egg, a
watchful sage.
