There’s
rain-fire, as reign-storms, an internal thump; as pushed his mind, a mental
antique, aflame by locket something gentle. That lonesome frenzy, his soul at
torches, to pass such kindness our dawn; as mobile imprints, upon mobile volts,
our skies claiming glory; such penchant ankhs, our waves to brain-cliffs, at
leaps stippling our nightmares: by years and indwelling; by tears and
rain-yelling; at fears and soul-sailing. I’m casual an ache…such intensive
normality…accustomed to atypical silence….
I
passed a heart, sitting for beating, such invasive procedures.
I
held a river, featured as palms, while losing rest. Our egos to war; this form of warfare; so
gentle it first began; that bedded ruby, as pure interior, but a pearl those
arcs at communion; this furry of brains, extracted by divinity, our roses
speaking in koans.
There
was weather, our orange leaves, bearing witness afflux with zeal; our ripened
sky; as plucked and eaten; our children partaking of our edges; that ruined
passion, while shedding innocence, that young toddler becoming adulthood: such
pagan rites; a sculptress knitting; our mystics watching: if but a dream, as
preserved in kindness, but a circuit rebounding by stars: such cryptic
grays,
as fighting waves, fluting that opus of days.
I
sense hearts, those pure waters, those vernal welts; as untold allegories, or
mobile allusions, by sweltering timbal our desert-cries. I feel souls, embedded
one gem, crocheting that sky-writ: our dripping insignia; our masks removed;
our smiles upon familiar faces.
I
chance to see it.
I
dance to unravel it.
It
comes with time.
