Intangibility. To touch with vapor. To extend an arm. In detail, systematic, in search of what can’t become. Or enthused like anger evermore. Intangibility. Oh, Sullen Violin, to become in sound, cellos as witness, incorrigible reigns; sweeter incantation, days at trying boldness, begging for some alien in souls; with becoming winds, with numbness of self, in dear desperation, a feeling it left to chance. In finding a location, searching skies, surrendering to nowhere—in dynamite charms, everyone is in love, or a few refused to omit—scars turning purple, gusts of emotion, tingling in spirit. By roots to arrive, branches indeed, it must be as it is; to plead for clarity, given confusion, with thinking much on matters; fervent ecstasy, needing to walk away, tugged by intangibility.
I saw holiness, gripped perception, offended sentiments.
Alleluia! Instilled liturgy.
It was presence of self when it appeared. A soul can say enough, or not enough, always one sentence off.
I used to feel uneasy; it’s uncareful phenomena; most try not to listen, to play guitar higher in range, to become aloof of the mirror, given more to fret over. (Why should it matter? Give one free range, in the end, a soul must cross the tribunal—let God do God.) It doesn’t move. It just watches. Whose fault is that? A spirit will be asked to fix something showing resistance. Intangibility has a sister. Her essence is in particles.
Intangibility. To have a perspective, to have become smarts, a little resistant to others.
There’s strangeness. There’s boredom. And there’s regardless, I’m set for this course.
It would become with great hardships. Most things are beyond their agendas. It must unveil we thought. Cultures went deeper. Levi for priests. Judah for warriors.
Intangibility with resonance. Those feelings we can’t palm.
Strangeness of times; it was meant to feel irregular.
