Tuesday, April 23, 2019

Softer Whispers


…softer cadence, mythical, mystic thoughts, plus, mental correlation: this odd reality, as relying upon interior, if but this shaky understanding: lack of knowledge, or mechanisms, thereof, while adamant and deliberate: such bald eagles, such soaring delights, while releasing reality: this bold deliverance, this painful insight, while searching for agreements: a delicate damsel, a motive author, a musical church: so flighty, so seductive, or so insecure: our images clashing, at magnificent glaciers, our deer eyes feeding into compliments: found by situations; lovely for a chosen few; so captured by echelons: but miracles blossom, a phoenix shall rise, our axes, our rotation, our catapults: as small creatures, reliving existence, where something nudges our intuitions: such romantic, incandescent, and remarkable memories: as taught to survive, as taught to aspire, despite, a number of inadequacies: those reasons to exist, so hampered by existence, while so lost at love needing liberty: our aches rattling, our souls unspoken, our dreams right at points: while others pursue, this life of subsistence, those avenues, those rosy minded jewels: to adore unsaid Love, to shift with winds, to participate with longing arms: others, study closely, live vaguely, or become ecstatic in something permitting modicum control: thereinto, this sodden music, this whet cry, those dry rivers: to pierce sanity, breaking through, and become left centered: our trestles watching, our ink dripping, our beige garments ruined: so close to abstracts, so aloof to concretes, at pavements re-knitting gravel: those ceiling stencils, our frosty flakes, so aloof, so intense, so indebted….     …to adore with reason, becomes a living entity, where, otherwise, images become tangible: that is to say, we catch a glimpse, seasoned by insecurities, longing for something perceived as completion: this miracle moving, this cadence trumpet, those Cajun drums: at communicative vices, while leaping into troubles, where waters are devastated: or becoming such water, pushing downstream, peeling, maneuvering, sudden upon a breakthrough: our deeper islands, this silent perfection, while reality proves something wild: those fairer eyes, this complete package, at something incredibly magnificent: those tugs yanking, those indexes speaking, at blueprints feeling passion: such spacial concerns, seated at computers, waving through various sites: to happen upon thoughts, to desire eternity, to seek language speaking to fires: our eardrum happiness, our classifications, while reasoning to outmaneuver our designations: so high those thoughts, so delicious our tastes, while higher ranks are wondering about inclusion: as exclusive members, weary of inclusive members, where adequate signage becomes precedence: at collegial struggles, a slew of degrees, to arrive feeling a bit distressed: working for a Bentley, to soon purchase this ceiling, while disappointed concerning velocity: those candent, but silent screams, at irregular correlations, spaced for tempered, laughing at something ironic: our lambent aches, our opaque prophecies, while studying our times: those interior tables, this chart by reality, at something elusive….     …it flows like winter, it’s fleeting like summer, it’s beauty like autumn: those surer fantasies, to fulfill a palm full, to exist as one destined by chance: our mystical landscapes, our mythical shrubberies, somewhere steep those labyrinthine—to offer a sacred self, to live in accordance, to aim for higher-privilege—this difficult slot, this reputation, while out-sung and singing something temperamental: those passionate waves, this passionate castle, so attracted to something ambivalent: our younger arts, this atypical horizon, our eyes upon our aurous—at deeper values, restructured but tempted, while fighting for political inclusion: our few minds, our tempered realities, while left with memories: that gentle place, those softer whispers, roaming this relaxed valley: therewith, a raving empire, a raven skycraft, a riving ambition….          

I’d Save The Reader Years

    The beat becomes sickness. A long crucible—a drilling ecstasy. I was losing focus, feeling forbidden, if to self, if to mirrors. So curs...