Mania

Thoughts
Chime
Low.

Radiance deep, spoken whispers,
Oceans
Crimson
Mute
To velvet birds,

Ever singing
Unrelated
Operas, many.
Earthly cusp of intuition,
Unrelenting,
Set to settle slow.

Moonlit smoke in violet feelings —
Calm
Crescendos
New.

Soft and softly dreaming — singing
Symphonies.
Propensities,
Adieu.

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Sometimes, when you’re out climbing poetry, you get stuck.

You climb, and you get to the point where you can’t go up and you can’t go down.

You get stuck and regret not telling anyone you left; you regret leaving the ground.

Sometimes, when you’re out climbing poetry, you never come back.

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One day, when I awake,

My body will be old, and I will be young

No longer;

I pray my bones on that day

Receive warmth.

So desperately needed, heat;

Our inner light blinks to the storm of life.

In the onslaught, there’s war,

And we earn our halos.

What secrets are hidden in the calendar,

Hidden in the old calendars, with their

Dusty pages and forgotten

Years?

What happened to those years,

Those years that were owed me

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I could have the power of a million gods

And do nothing.

I could wish my way to living just

To hope to die.

If freedom and completion were already in me,

I could wish for more, could wish for wings

And wish to fly.

How am I to interpret these words from the heavens?

Perhaps the whole of me is deep within.

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I could fall in love under the freeway overpass,

With the street lamps blinking on the bugs,

In the heart of the downtown midnight city.

I can visit the wide bridge,

I can sit on the tall hill,

I can walk past the old graveyard.

There isn’t a city I haven’t been to.

In the dead twilight of yesterday,

I spend another night in the dark.

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