Dry water, wet deserts, and life is contradiction. The
volume of excitement, captured love, it mustn’t last. A soul under
construction, wreckage feeling complete, to again
another’s tornado; power relinquished, needing to
believe, if but a fraction of responsibility. Reaching into prophecy,
unraveling future events, threshed and repenting;
a dying man may be a cruel man, else, a desperate
soul, facing desperation, trying to rebuild those last viral seconds;
television indiscretion, multiple ideals, vanished into blue
ivory. And Love was good, formed in simplicity, framed
in madness; yawning often, but not in return, trying harder. Many future at
presence, illusions bent atmosphere, while
winds are wheezing. Like quicksand, a soul seeps in,
groveling and grieving, griping and groping—fire extinguished, bothersome
reality, tropes and similes; the last smile,
crossing her face, a child filled with promise; ironic
passion, fusion cries, effused, poured into society. Trials for those spirits,
confusion for us spirits, asking—the why to my
actions: featured in premise, abstruse and ashamed,
doing against the will. The fair and seeing berries, made into shivers,
heat pressing into affirmation.
