There’s In-betweenness to get to Us

We war a tender beast falling into jungles amazed but stumbling; such in-between time, such monotony, such humility; to need but excitement to dream but terrific as encouraged knitted wings; those days recording me if but to know you while wars were ensuing. Over nautical reigns so cursed it feels passion to die while something irks; this gnawing phantom this killing absurdity insomuch as humiliation and grime. If but our last mantra so deep in lava so sutured and polluted; this holiday sadness reminiscent of something released while selfish enough to need it back; our first fable this quasi-sculptress while one is debating his future; to adore like letting go or to adore like fresh inhalation so attuned to something dying.

I wrestle tedium this voice languishing while reality is having a party; so knotted so knitted screaming and knocking by wrath; those fated gates and partway into a magazine to sudden upon dear disgusts; but a puppet, but so knowingly, so, a bit closer to his goal; to become a puppeteer while maintaining compassion indeed such desperate laughs; a wistful motif running such stillness at steel and iron and ferric clouds; to loosen kilns to unlock doors where a cedarchest has become an intimate memory—those memoir fires, this steep monotony, to realize such feral activity; our aches our nonchalance or a nation raging with anger; to look so closely and thereby see nothing while many are wrestling with winds; to light a clove to get into a moment so clear so convinced while memories are wreaking havoc; but a pearl to some but a mistake for me but this is how it unravels. This life bedded in personalities where she wouldn’t for one but she was desperate to for another; this angel in his eyes this monster for others but this reflects upon a man’s proclivities; our interior hassle as if yesterday passed grayly while in actuality it lives forever; as ancient antiques seated upon a mantle so serious it looks—while patience is virtue or pure trust is alarming in an age where distrust and deception are first principles; so, we tug-away, and we remodel this space filled with existential furniture; seldom against love but too damaged to appreciate love while good people are slipping by.

I was so amazed this feeling where pure altruism appeared. I practice at this while not believing in this where mentioning it has weakened its value. Those vacant stares or her busy schedule or needing time to regroup. So away into you or so far from finding us where reality is having a party; at a jazzy emotion sipping energy and realizing it will never happen; this realist claim where it offers sanity as opposed to pining so much one is missing his life; to imprint stars to communicate with moons while our sun is pleading to bathe us. This plush carpet those few lines while Love was perfect for another person; such locket love such similar outfits while so concerned with another’s position; a moving koan a kidnapped heart while little angels are crocheting; this tingly song this tandem of emotions so softly sung; to need this soul to complete this horizon to need to return to the best in us; this mental lagoon this lotic passion or such pensive undecidedness; banished from an old me so allergic to mishaps while awakened by a mere gesture; this world of events, those winsome hands, while feeling quite amazed.

Those times we wrestle seated in blankness imagining something else should be in motion; this whelming feeling those ancient thoughts while non-stimulants are agitating; to see life this closed-openness those innate circuits as souls need to reap an inheritance; by ripened emotion so churned by promise so electric as rising creatures; if but to outsoar monotony if but to satiate a given feeling if but to ink-print our existence.