Saturday, October 24, 2020

The Portrait Is Dreaming

 

such rounded screams such asphalt with sediments underneath tears. a captured body a feline ambition so destroyed by beauty. breathing oxygen laughing at meraki so understood. those eyes seeming lazy but so accurate to have dynasty in a season. try to live us or try to escape us where another doesn’t know your silence. abandoned to hopeless redeemed in a gesture so much to live our island. by castles unstudied or tolerant discrimination where some love raw newness: a man to his destiny a woman to her arts where some people dine on society. so ambivalent so acrobatic where anxiety comes in its realism. a feeling as it haunts its soul, a draught in its summer such miracles come winter. never such a remarkable curse so attuned to a psyche such language as never sweeter: zinnias next to mushrooms so uncanny while wildfires rage into autumn. by mirrors for mayhem or motion for disarray so determined to become incredible. if to arrange by emotion if but to sink into a feeling where two never create a thought. to adore more in falling too authentic to redeem while normal people have something in common. by fixture or fragment or flame; too much induction too much a need as for something proving its merit daily; where souls are hungry, while it isn’t your fault, but passion needs something un-give-able: righteous insistence an anger against doubts or a deep rededication to allegiance. our furious calmness or unlit fury as it erupts trapped in a cedarchest. to run into dangers to conceal rationalization as one becomes some boxed-in part of freedom. by rice paper or origami or an essay when one never answered Pain’s ambition: by fruit of its night, by 5th grade so prepared for technical dialogue. or by such phantoms, as a room we just left, where our instructor is Mrs. Wraith.      

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...