That unfamiliar knowledge of what
it means to be whole, when the world
caved in and nothing we could tell
was left in place or organized.
Then there, at the places where our
hearts untangle and we feed our noble
occupations with dreams of afterlives,
of hobbled and steely imperfections
that make their way to platforms of
hardened hope unfurled and waving,
beckoning to another settled thought
and an other fetid, taut misadventure:
nothing can make us immortal or even
deign to take part in our gr...
You have such a rich inner life which
bobs and weaves, past all those chained
and whirring gears in lovely, seething
incompatibilities and contradictions.
Mechanisms can't hold the brightest
blessings you provide, because they
hide so deep inside within the
dimmest recesses of your old abyss.
When another soul contacts them,
and makes you sparkle so brightly
those passions explode from your
face in beams of light, I hide.