the light of the furnace, the
ghosts in our souls, they chirp, they peek, the blackness is talking faster,
out of refugees. incandescent rain, societal chains, the reigns are too
terrifying to reject.
features are permanent. “How to awaken
them?” I can’t reveal but experience.
the remnants were baptized. we flew
into fires. we woke up the sleeping spirits. they will say, “He lost
something!”
cultures come unexpectedly. most of
us are awake with closed eyes. although I celebrate, I can’t help burning the
emptiness.
attitudes conceal us. I see
landmarks in spirits, souls hanging on high, a little spiritual at the time.
brains are war-locking. souls are
changed. sadness is doing her slumber.
the choicest meal, in a rebel’s attic,
the black banshees. consecrated. pledging allegiance. something to theological
psychiatry.
rubric souls, rubric cries,
impermanent decisions; rulers of atmosphere, the promise of wholeness, minds mimic mathematics.
whereto, are keyboards and pianos
and glorified cellos; leprechauns drinking, praying, like abracadabra, and mystic
ecclesia.
many golden felines, the ride is to
exist—to live, to grin over what one can’t change.
therewith, is algebra,
spirit-geometry, the inner light; to meet his face, to hear his
silence, to know it was unusual pain.
I wrestle my concerns, tiptoeing
agitation, appalled by needing my miracle; a magnet soul, a gifted problem, for
anything out of alignment.
the knell struck, the mystics
appeared, we laughed about it. it was war with it, it was God with it, we
stopped short of leaping the memories.
screaming at myself, tacit in
myself, just worried, where the soul hast to rest last.
the boiling spirit can move
invisibility. fervent dyes, cryptic cries, sheer at the moon’s eyes.
the outward human—terrible/tragic
beliefs—engulfed by genetic habits.
the feature is the slant, the rain,
the undisclosed.
