Centerpiece

 

 

We might grapple, such tall walls. We might play it nameless, absent lovers. So much gray matter, so many banshees. I spend time seducing a phantasm; or watching squirrels. We might knit baskets, nibble strawberries, laugh at the inconsequential. It was never us, radical matches. It was ever an adventure; such value in a curse. A passing belief in wires, tiptoeing galaxies. Ever a breeze. Always a schism. When we might share a wilder notion. If to write a tome; if to defeat a tomb; proud to have sung life, nothing would ever be as it was … such destined stars, neat, tidy scars, to pinch something with value. It could be simple: it would ruin us. By dreams, in recognition, trespassing doubts. Piercing thoughts, motion hearts—livid in essence, such beautiful disquieting noise. If it is not evident by now, lead in directions, a soul grapples with affections; so intense, so insidious, measured by graces, at some point asking angels. In seeing it, a deep dynasty, a love for reflection, certain dark pieces of light. Such a glare, rumored to have pains, with eternity glistening. A casual tryst, a neat betrayal, rumbling, rummaging, almost rescued. In seems it never drew water, going through it, sacrificing the risk. To read self, those recreational eyes, always as if, always detached.  

Orientation was in Church

 

Inclined to feel uncertain the marionette syndrome; acute silence, medicinal assistance. To listen to it all until chatter clarifies itself, souls in meadows. Some region inside, studying environment, often feeling like a newcomer in an ancient body. So many gaps between then, now, and tomorrow, so many interpretations: I am left reading God’s Dashboard. Much depends upon air bags, if safety ever comes, with memories backfiring. Such existential torque, blazing torches—filled with horse power, undergoing what a second feels like. So many mind cylinders; such rapid flippancies; our world, as we claim it, seems detached from its inhabitants—otherwise, likeness of habits, familiar thoughts, human fauna, brute insistence, in gravitating towards reflection; in giving love, receiving myself, proud to have cherished my shadow. Absent to it as it takes form, wrestling strings, musing upon a show of kites; tussling over epistemics, asserting attributes, in a position of influence; rather, low at points, trudging through marshweed, soaked in mire, rinsed, noon is close by. If opera is not life, we have nothing else; such a magic woman, measured against creeds, such a moving soul—in fencing passions, in palming angels, suffused, pouring into a paragraph (we call it prose).  

Mind Stuff & Practicality at Debates

 

 

I find you in an image of a thought, sweet intangibility. Dying was first unsanctioned. If to suffer me a little mythology. I push away a thought. It comes back. It seems beyond physics. So much meta to it. And palming hopes; And skiing faith; knowing this feeling will be there, as it giggles, like a new imp, chuckling over raw liquor. As we tempt our guts, to live to compose, to investigate, to do research, such sabbatical wings. It entertains for a time. It always lingers. Seeing life in its passing. Passing into a situation. Watched closely. To say, “It was exhausted.” You visit often. I think about David. To debate if he knew God with depth of mechanics. To exercise it, to find solace in it, to attribute it to communion. This need for souls. This coming to community. Nonetheless, I see a picture, aside a pin, pegs sprawled upon carpet—in its choice, flooring itself, trying to feel again—those flat forests, at a second, displeased by process, sounds of majesty, veering into moments—it means more to mind than it can sustain practically. So underdeveloped. We say it ironically, “The blessing has a curse to it.” With many going back and forth with the Anchor. I portrait a scene: heart spears, mental absorption, to have a movement in souls: we ask why it captures just to unlatch it, or collect a series of ancient papyrus, sensing souls, kindred souls, feeling close enough to speak it: missing parts at times.