…loosen
our souls, this art theses, at tender, remote, and cultic functionality: so
sure about death, so uncertain about events, at graves, naively speaking
questions: so cavelike, beating senses, or annihilating something uttered: a
musical box, an unlocked cage, or a discarded number: eating galaxies, nourishing
discrimination, but asked to existence as a whole person: engaged in warfare,
so social with deaths, such pride by running: internal dissertations, inherent
conflict, so close we argue—those shutdown feelings, this indiscreet imposition,
at something too obvious to give full affect/effect: changed, nonetheless, vacating
valleys, screeching and shrieking something terribly: opposed to mere deaths,
as needing immortality, that future eighth generation: our space babies, our
helium breads, accultured, aggregated, or pure agriculture: this proletariat
conflict, our bourgeoisie indifference—for it was never his child: dealing
dice, a latent racist, addicted to Those People: (My heart drops, as if
committing crime, or eating too many cookies: this draining operation,
presuming/assuming dissimilarities, a wolfman, an interior piano: to sense
those eyes, to know those meanings, where no one is listening: indeed, a crazed
fool, to believe sincerely that, If you love me, you must respect my
culture): but passion passes, If this havoc than that havoc, and truly
don’t disturb me: this gentle terror, this haunted house, while reality is
furious with existence: thrashing Honesty, degrading Integrity, to look over
and say, I love you…our anti-behaviors, our thesis laws, our plastered
magnum opus: those familiar feelings, where we feel underappreciated, but it
has become custom—and ruling machines count it as the ‘Norm’: our terrific
meanings, our petrified reasons, while Time looks in and congratulates
Delusion: this hellish position, while something is pleading, where a fool
unlocked chains and was met with death: our status quo, be it the debts
of life, but hell to something thinking: to please our minds, we tolerate functionality,
engaged to color, and arguing for eugenics: our brave seconds, pointing to
something absurd, while told, I love you….
…a
bit there, a feeling detained, while something needs Nietzsche—this dream game,
this love essence, while tolerating anything for acceptance: couldn’t find air,
couldn’t phone air, for air had disappeared: couldn’t see breath, couldn’t
beckon breath, but breath was out there: (I retreat softly, patient with this
land, or intolerant: for life is simple, see as me—or I’ll hurt you): Oh’ those
tides, in this vengeful world, as we watch, feel adverse, and disagree with
extremes….
I lit
a feeling, this hard chase, in order to ignore actuality in exchange for
something sweet: introduced to habits, those destructive praxes, where turning
them off is detrimental: so accredited, so absolute, if blue moon tension met
with sanity: this rolling crucible, our honorable lies, so concerned with this
otherness: losing leisure time, losing all senses, reasoning through armchairs:
or hands-on, quarreling with flame, a bit mystic this deep negotiation:
recalling those moments, as meant so little, for something familiar was
engaged: this desired thing, this casual passion thing, to finish a good
session with a high five: indeed, a prude, but needing something romantic, if
but to exist our lie: too many fables, too much conflict, while closeness
appreciates a high five: such indecision, such lightfast livings, assorted, but
losing, captive, but free!
Dear
Universe—so rebuilt, so elsewhere, spliced, defeated, and given life: this
Father Mother, this Mother Father, so close to winning Ghosts: as infused, but
visited, as needing that intense ion at every second: too reborn to die, too
dead assaulting rebirth, too accustomed to clashing with contemporaries: but
sweet ivory, or syrup mahogany, while gunned into differentials.
