if to analyze life, aborted to
madness, unleveled by genetics.
the trapdoor, psychotic prints, life-spans,
feeling oblivious.
tentacle songs, an island of fluff,
a season of resistance. the musical force, the reckless charm, most treacherous
compassion.
if more with silence, analyzing
love, at churns, feeling unsuited.
love consumes me, or love attracts
me, or love abandoned me.
souls die to perish, the fit of fairness,
adorning the roadmap.
—brains merge, steep recognition, a
city of idiosyncrasies—
slimy snails, odorless butterflies,
analogies depicted in metaphors.
skating blueprints, sliced within, at variances with sailing.
captive feelings, entrenched by the
guts, a tear by the orange skies.
melic life, telic keys, tragic sagas.
more the surfing, complete
pictures, monsters beneath contours.
years have passed us, souls starting
families, souls pitching softballs.
the battling frenzy, the love in
maniacs, the magic of comforters.
the jasper sun, the moon horizon,
the travesty of sitting stillness; recapped romance, a box of crystals, bubbles
with champagne—if to exist, the formal passion, the informal legacy, adrift a
dozen stars.
back to analyzing life, aye-aye exotic,
souls flying in fury.
the disposition for hoping, gray signposts,
symbols of violence;
roundabout impressions, as brains
jog or joust about silence, jesting with fences.
turquoise feelings, inducing gestures,
more the ability to feel comfortable.
meadows made of blues,
unforgettable violets, compassion made of skylarks.
—wheels spinning, genetics spinning,
rinsing hopelessness—
to feel washed, the cycle above
life, feeling spatial inside.
the inner web of chandeliers,
harsher greetings, fervent excellence.
