the
soul as it outwits itself—by essence in Sheol—the story of the people; upon a
soul-drift, into soul-wood, aloft the soul angels; holding to integrity of
spirit, relocated into atmosphere, it’s been unspoken for years—the life of its
pride, the music of the memory, such piano and violin; a man left to his
thoughts—reality on the fringe—of debate, insistence, and weather. the soul as
amoral, or the moral creature, or immoral. it depends on identity, wealth of wisdom,
and wretchedness. many souls are soaring higher, made immortal, floating inside—like
phoenix skies, eagle winds, or hawkish spaces—the meaning of silence, the
incredibility of the portrait, the region made adept to souls. chaos as a
constant. individuality or crowd passions. souls streaming into clouds. many kaleidoscopes.
many telescopes. much appeal in scientific method—as dreams form, where souls
flourish, the alphabet of infinity.
