…such
struggle to fly, a weed off-key, or something obscure: those painted mirrors,
this inner vice, while thrumming gold guitars: to imagine ecstasies, while
afloat some fantasy, or carved from wood: spacial for a heart, rabid for a
voice, our souls captured singing demises: (I said little, I screamed in
silence, I barely passed at life: such core reasoning, such rich understanding,
while Love was sick: those high notes, those intoned muffles, our contours
yelling at logic: at terrible feelings, or passionate elation, where one is
determined to keep that feeling): thereabout, this interior climate, those
interior whispers, our joints absorbing gravity: at terrors but living, at
strange faces, but also a stranger: this rare retrieval, those rare
acknowledgments, while mirrors are fraught by ideals: at inward pardons, if but
to survive, or so careful our souls are roaring: at antique notions, wrestling
with societal patience, where art seemed a positive segue….
We
know reality, this raving creature, such sugarcane and coffee: a bit itchy,
requiring lotion, requiring existence: this intimate angel, demanding our
praise, while something needs by evidence: our local arcs, our mental trips, or
this child’s voyage: those yellow windows, those silent parachutes, our
exterior pangs: to outgrow silence, after years of practice, becoming pragmatic
resilience: our harbored rites, this flying with sanity, those cultivated
habits: (looking at deception, as such those parts, to interrogate our artists:
this man with doubts, those songs fleeing deserts, our anguish fleeing souls:
to come to position, while abandoned to wilderness, to meet animals becoming
kindred(s): our passionate symphony, this remote island, or eyes sensing
dynamite): our running ocean, our peaceful estuary, our loud indecisiveness—at
treasured inquiries, our scribbled margins, or days coming so close to
evaluations: our havoc cries, our burnished hearts, while remaining sensitive
galaxies: at Love by merits, as opposed to numbers, while lose was everso
gentle: that sun-woman, those moon skies, at differing realities.
…our
palms to sand, our faces pointed westward, our energies typing eastward: our
loud memories, those outstanding shrubberies, those beautiful lemurs: our
bipolar nature, our scientific clamps, at minutes debating our resistance: this
lavish music, this incredible potential, our minds running with glee: this club
for optimists, our children with God ahead, at seconds shifting through
gravity: as captured novices, exposed so early, deteriorating our intake: at
life feeling goodness, or at life a bit confused, while certain joys are held
to heart: those sacred discussions, this feeling reality, our meats with cheeses:
at wine giggling, at terrors reviewing, or making sense of chaos: our
cosmologies, our teleology, our resistance to claiming, nothingness: our large carpets, our hounding elements, our loveable
aches: to chime with existence, this remarkable feather, where passion becomes
existence: our religious pianos, our existential violins, at something
esoteric: this inner penchant, perchance to live, perchance to fly….
It
came as music, those scouring emotions, those feelings demanding courage: our
souls with delights, a bit familiar with lights, while pushing particular
sensitivities: our children laughing, our bodies to worlds, our everything so
close to gentility: but seas-overseas, or castaway inclinations, rebuilt into
flaming clouds: our rites as souls, our dreams as humans, our deep loveable
insistence: this place in minds, those ramped ‘transmitters, our avenues
leading to mystic sanctuaries: where days are reflexive, while evenings are
activities, to come to rest lingering by rainbows: those touchy sharks,
afforded our rabid angst, where pain became segue.
