It becomes us, our morning reminders, those uneasy
spaces: living incognito, feeling unexplained, and wrestling emptiness: those
rippling dreams, our turns churning music, where analyses comes filtered:
predispositions, angled determinants, our Eastern Literature: waving at
mirrors, listening to thoughts, or practicing oration: at roads trekking, while
trailed by geckos, pausing, looking forward, below an orange horizon: into minds,
admiring careers, filled with sensation: abrupt at points, those casual stars,
while examining silent language: sensitive souls, at life and lights, at
turnpikes staring at symbols: our curious incentives, our carry along bags,
while we rummage through luggage: so enlove, so channeled, so approved: those
railroad trains, tugging existence, while leaping freights: so uncomfortable,
at a second with coffee, or an hour with mindfulness: as someone visits, a
thrill in excitement, as something disappears: those lighthouses, those raging
seas, our mental imagery: needing insistence, residing in resistance, such
casual pretenders: but life is different, this allotment for souls, where many
are soaring and out of spheres: wondering lately, concerning this mixture,
where training, anguish, and stillness provide a plateau: those existential
ingredients, dressed by pragmatic solutions, while we desire something
metaphysical: our taste for numen, our
release from samsara, out angular
frustration with nirvana: our children
gawking, those resilient sponges, while mimicking behavior: those psychic intuitions,
those adolescent screams, at something royal and complete: our minds racing,
our souls calculating, our women striving into madness.
I walk caves,
designed at instincts, where experience becomes wisdom: I’ve been here, a bit
displeased, at a greater insight: I found butterflies; I sung acapella; I
wrestled a gnome: those wild feelings, wading through waters, or at cadent
desire: this land of winners, or this carry along bag, or both so close to
edges: a palm of vitamins, a glass of milk, nibbling a palm sized cookie: somewhat
different, somewhat insightful, while courting silence: those resilient souls,
those complete linchpins, where reality is nothing without them: as settling
into a calling, while reestablishing careers, and still, digging holes through
those caves: our battling hearts, our mental bats, while darkness seems
personal: if but to flee, if but to fly, but enlightenment brings our return:
those interlocked communities, those weekly potlucks, our souls angling for
angels: by wrenching contemplation, or avid reading, we find rapacious spirits.
