Let it become joy, glee, most miserable happiness; let
it purify skies, years of exhaustion, aside a miracle.
Most creative daymare—lethal mesmerism, theater clouds,
most bashful winds, authors pleading ink, vibes untraceable, a glance, a
gesture, moving that armoire—sinister omega, copious birds, ventriloquist arts—to
have guessed an incorrect reason.
Sharing lumination, idyllic measures, needing unique
essence, something extra-ordinary, a 10th of Greece.
If reality chills ice, and the breeze is glacier,
souls are freezing. To have season, a nomadic heart, trying as it deceives us
Casual coquet. A soul and comets.
Searching immaterialism. Close enough to stand apart.
Most reasonable of spirits, reckoning the stars, to
find truth and suffer injustice.
Let it become joy, glee, most unreasonable happiness;
demeaner heavy, a sinful saint, more race through the carnival, those faces,
wishing it was fairytale.
