Watching metaphors, on trial for humanity, one shot,
warm heart, seasoned hexes; aside helium skies, so germane to me—the feeling as
it unfeel(s). Made to tiptoe, assigned an island, rushing into illusion; a
mirror watching, seeing itself, appalled it has loved itself. I was waxing
life, I was pillaging self, I was laughing by myself; so filled with God, so
damn crazy for God, as left fiending for God, adrift a draft, so daft for the
one God.
I ignore what hurts. I sense it hurts itself. I see
invisibility at work. In you resides
me, in me harbors pieces of you, and spirits are wafting into smoke. I was with
mystery, it enticed a soul, intrusion is just plane simplistic, in sense, it
must be, it hast to live, the fire means only so much;
flaming in space, shouting in droves, couldn’t
understand until those shoes were mine—the fret of disaster, the threat of
seeing, those miles to get back to balance.
Whatever it is, Jesus! It laughs, mocks, it holds
Jesus in derision. It has no respect for prophecy. It hates disciples. It hates
Jesus!
Too much preaching. I have indicted emotion, can’t get
it to breathe, what has become of me!
So gorgeous. Never within earshot. The flame as it
yearns for the wrong soul.
Maybe phantoms in time. Maybe a sense of one good
argument. Maybe desiring as it climbs walls. Whatever it might be, it’s gone
mad.
Could one imagine—pure intrusion—is it justified? Yes!
If time is about healing.
