Sunday, July 5, 2020

Some Souls Are Uncanny


something intrusive or a bird walk while we broach esoteria. we ingress a whale or natural instincts where some are perchance. minds to a manta ray, or palms to an ape, while reviving where aftermath becomes change. an animal’s dreams a doctor’s diagnoses while between a radiant rift. (we know in our primitive brains but unable to speak it clearly.) a red panda in a demented county where many pluck hibiscus—the Wild Woman upon a dry thunder where one is certain to sense something alchemic: a mother’s memories a father’s engrams (stems carrying data) or mental portraits where granny is screaming those tides are excited such becomes mystical! freshwater in old ponds while un-cutting wounds requires to open fire first. it was dying in its living so livid reviewing levity. such Yahtzee or checkers or chess—so annoyed or drafted or unsensed. by tension-fatigue while surrendered to heaviness or helping so much it becomes splices. one would see a dugite or above its nature while souls drift in friction out-loud in chambers. a palm of mosquitos or a sky of gnats where the pentacle is mis-fathomed. we run a risk, while aiding others, where one might demonstrate hostility. it whistles differently. while one relies on certainty. where elements serve as sea-monsters. so coarse a surface, so raw by assistance, where red herrings are employed. such souls hemorrhaging. such jararaca ability. while seated in softer grass.
I came through with glassy eyes where emotion trickled from tear-ducks. a sudden rupture where another is sad insofar as to remove mind-malaria. those black caimans those white dinosaurs or mythlike tarantulas; into piranha airlines so resistant unto a psychic shift: an inner chatter or an earth mirage if but to sequence a portal of causations. by an ephemeral aura by a wilder glow as to remember she sat sparking waves: in a sickened spider where souls are grunting as so close, we pretend in reversal: those sky catacombs or three-hearted humans while many are ten-channeled spirals.             

I’d Save The Reader Years

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