split across hemispheres, in twain,
personality asunder.
with an extraordinary imagination, braiding
invisibility, churning and turning images.
awakening in sweat, eating stems,
preparing for right vs. wrong.
cursed and blessed. minimalism and maximalism.
pain and healing.
the embrace of theology. the days
of Good News. the psychedelic faith.
or feeling unworthy, kneeling at
the cliff, adoring some tender undercurrent.
adoring more in frames, an outer observation,
by interior phenomenon.
wrists and shame; estuaries and
fungi; rules, and fraught by outbursts.
such a calming voice, fevered by
kind acts, so delicate and strong.
upon a symbol, decided in an ankh, a
Cross, lodged in itself.
the enchanted winds, the rising
sun, the nightly moon; such fair creatures.
such innocence, tarsier eye-prints,
brains capable of softer numen material.
if into the personality, assigned the
brooks, into the mountains—the cages are displeasing.
sore unbalanced existence, speckled
with spontaneity, or trained to take tranquilizers.
such super suspense, courtyards
filled with hopes and dreams, colored in vulnerability.
taken to sprinting—most steadily, wherewith,
both body and soul—the sky as it secludes.
torching through fields, deeper
trust, into palms, looking at pikers—chasing as we soar.
so much to conquer, established in
souls, given to everything i’ve dreamed.
if struck with aphasia, needing to
utter one spell, one prayer, i’d plead in time.
