…intense
blue fire, our mystic appetites, re-portrayed, living ancient existence: too
keen on troubles, reborn to again perish, attempting to master our cycle:
purple fire, remissive angst, such a powerful cadence: our remote agonies,
censored but contemporary, enflamed by our mistakes: so tragically remarkable,
so distant our stars, so close but remodeled: treasuries and diamonds, archaic
happenstance, where some men live misfortune: our color wheel, this
travesty-ethnicity-gauge, too sure to ignore perfections: so gray, at igloo
dungeons, while one sits immortalized: our séance modalities, our familiar
proclivities, rich in undercurrents: such brushfire, such creative intensities,
while probing through agitation: underpinning anger, mortal frustration, so
tempered, so deceased, at laughs crushing our intestines: over there we speak,
combing a dark brown mare, as dared to suggest an attraction: stallions
leaping, squirrels watching, while birdsongs race our lapwing winds: too hyper
for normality, so charged by radiance, where less is seemingly enough….
This
inborn fount, this celestial flame, such beauty in tears admitting fury: at tender
patience, or aggressive kindness, while something appears irregular: our slain
skies, our internal exospheres, at each as if at this operation: seeing like
dying, seeming like living, where something casual provokes an argument: our
delivered souls, as a woman knows life, so accustomed to nursing this
existence: our grannies giggling, our forefathers negotiating, where a man is
daft to suggest transmigration: our linked guts, our knitted hearts, while a
nine year old is crocheting: palms of prose, or rhinestone roses, where we
suggest this spirit element: so rude to science, so threatened by science,
where science is aiding our outlooks: our Sun revising, our blackdamp
kissing soot, our chimneys a bit intolerant: but yours be glory, a magnanimous
smile, or a tear looking irresistible: our panicked tremblors, our deep curses,
while a man will tolerate life to win existence: those mishaps, our covenant so
rich, our employ so furtive: this passion in clothe, this tunic in blood, as
sheep instruct while possessed.
It
became adventure, as to oppose a feeling, while hooked unconsciously: those
fair violins, this green fire, so aloof, where something is growing: but a
phoenix feather, or an elephant’s memories, where reality seems incompetent: if
but to escape, as but to insist, where lines remain blurry: our conquered
psyches, our intelligent agents, at so much turmoil: to realign, to sense
through senses, alive but feeling destructible: such coarse souls, riding our
umbrellas, afraid to admit feelings: our customs rabid, our habits hermetic,
while rereading through exegeses: our diary indexes, our sky-explosions, this
aurous mind: sneezing from dusts, puffing our last conversation, amazed that
some sentences stick: those days to consciousness, those moments to
concentration, or seconds reading where eyes swell with meanings: if but
televised, our embarrassed moments, while some were quite inquisitive.
We
give it to religiosity, to instruct our seeds, while we remeasure such intakes:
we converse daily, we sprinkle a violent thump, until our children inquire:
such deep amore, for one we can’t escape, for antennas are aligned at their
channels: our altar horns, our horrible thrusts, while leaking for our
families: to ensure this texture, to relive this feeling, where eyes lock upon
something terrific: as mystic mentors, encased by resistance, re-railed forced
to trek this telescopic road: our kaleidoscopic properties, our measured
energies, where imagination instructs humility: as afar but close, as grounded
but unfettered, if but to re-exist.
