we couldn’t wiggle, so we crawled, we
then took the skies. the fever in our hearts, the communication inside, void of
differentials. maybe by flight, the sorrow leaking, and swoosh into agonies. lying
winds, so insecure, it ravishes inhibitions. into bamboo drums, aluminum and
foam, best by insistence, better by waves. paper planes and boats, electric
guitars, impending gifts. as living with feelings, curtailed by realities, attempting
to locate absolution: to think no more, to efface sin, some energy without much
interruption. dreaming of pleasures, aloof to emotions, emission of tender
heart-scrapes. souls afar, scattered particles, wings growing and feathers
flapping. a voyage through time, toddlers and Beethoven, and more infants. the
whimsical distrusts, foreboding imagination, allegiance to cadence, deeper than
nonchalance. most sentimental, experiencing tugs, seasons become indebted to
nature: a small face, an enigma soul, an inner creed; a miracle horizon, a
rainbow promise, the senses we possess in gold. discovery and mockeries, building
royalties, coming years inching and scratching.
