…many
times, and again, this sacred feeling, driving our sacred souls: to exist by
cadence, to live by resonance, while attempting to ignore operations: this
feral algebra, so lost to trauma, so aged, afloat a sentence, wrangling over
freedoms: this infant alphabet, this ranging mechanic, where one longs for
phantasms: those green fruits, those avenue yearnings, as peering through glass
cities: a man longing, another man watching, while quickness hits like
lightning: our proud endeavors, our coarse aches, our souls, our daughters, our
leviathans: only by lights, only by gardens, slanted at peaks, gazing at
peripheral glances: if but our agonies, at capital planets, where Love adored a
losing man: this ferret sullen, this ape with sorrow, while an elephant nudges
a dying calf: our minds sensing, this leaving witness, as noticing something is
askew: our longest lines, as if death was there, to tiptoe a mountain of
strawberries: so deep in landmines, at courage by drifting, where many have
afforded one tyranny: (this musical heart, those musical dances, at ballet, at
cherries, or something proving his dementia: this low high, this high low, at
frequencies a decade running: our sworn affections, our needled babies, or
living like stars afforded a fifty year old marriage: so torn asunder, our down
syndrome universe, at something so unpredictable: if but a scream, damaged by
wires, while thrown to silence: our tried relationships, our unfortunate
rivalries, where in honesty we relive three incredible months): but life is
majesty, and majesty is living, where some marry so early in development: as
giving our best years, our elastic bodies, our elastic courage: this trembling
passion, our bodies growing madness, while thrown for sutured by something
incandescent: such mortal honesty, to live in one person, while so afraid of
losing statistics….
I
remember silence, this waking force, or that slight heart-ware agony: so at
peace with dying, to realize a subtle truth, some women make living a sheer
pleasure: in truth, indebted to honesty, but living something quite
imperceptible: those florid valleys, this high-decided tree, where love appears
but vanishes: that particular person, that every man adores, where she begins
to peek time and again: our days at tetras, our pieces fitting perfectly, while
one soon senses disruption: our ambivalent moments, our ambivalent breakfasts,
where a kiss holds such reluctance: but life is message, ever in manifestation,
at aches and oranges or a plethora of plums.
…we
look for magnificent, our magnanimous scars, at screams or media longing for
something uncatchable: our torrid exercises, our planet seconds, while drenched
in rich ecstasy: that shaky atmosphere, while Love is so intentional, or sudden
upon a dry existence: such medicinal chaos, or love so radiant, where passion comes to peaks: our deep frustration,
our remote feelings, as driven for something so terrific: this balance for us,
this chase for our dreams, while proving to annihilate anything opposite: that
casual mistake, as made into functionality, where a child is none the wiser: as
ours is skin tone, or American recitals, flushed by river diamonds…our redacted
existence, our redacted harbingers, where prophecy seems intermittent….
