Amphetamine—a somewhat biting beatitude.
Steel. Alloy-terrific. Condensed yet by fathoms felt.
Permeating red-blood cell count…creating the creature unmasked within.
Cortical-inductions—stirring wishes and prayer—a merging of the most relevant availability—pitted against the agility found in the fountain’s mythic password—altering dream to reacquaint oneself to the beauty of filtration—wherein, the pheromone’s response is impossible to ignore, impossible to deny—impossible, or so one would’ve once believed.
Critical neuron reaction—sensations ripping clean—pre-visceral principles clouded by deranged delusions of possibilities previously conceived to be far beyond the patterning of this subterranean, sub-atomic parceled sky.
Supplicating maximum extreme—replicating an untold
Rhythm of pre-pubescence, where the pangs of the modern day are irreverent and tucked, neatly without regret, away in folds rapt by tranquilities systemic shrouds—cloaking the devastation that corrupts the projected course of steam arraigned.
Synaptic altruism, bending mind for all time seen—radio signals bend and purge—collecting amputations of the indubitably absurd—cranking passion’s secret kiss—stolen in that instant blissful note of sun—a heist to forever be known as a grift never again to be outdone. Summertime is upon us. It shades the purity of the soil with a haze, a beautiful recreation of a pre-dawn primacy.
Heart races in Gemini. Solstice conjugates the over-amplifications within the perception of an all-together random leap beyond anything the divine prepared the flesh for here or now, far or wide, colliding…supra-collision…cranking out congruent flecks of time.
Blood is flushing impurities away. Like bile to the toxic soul…the plasma molts in spectacles and the marrow is moistened by the arrow’s quivering release.
There is not an entry in the training manual, typewritten or jotted in the margins, to account for the swings in chart experienced by the skin bound to such mortal hands.
While all the abstractions in the universe could not reveal the truth of the tremors the mind creates…one thing is true…
There is so much sweetness in a world unmet. There is such abandon relegated to the pronunciation of the heart’s pleas.
There are vials of amphetamines awaiting their release—to course the system, to once again make it free.
The imagined moment is far too alive to be ignored. The tumults felt are neither mine nor yours. The sky is what the eyes will see; the clouds will always be imperceptible—unnoticed if concentrations lack forgiveness. The fragrance of her pheromone, I believe to be…a perfection of God’s mastery…horseradish to the soul…Visine to lives not yet awakened…amphetamine to the blackest of veils…releasing the wonder of this vessel, to set adrift upon directions deep and far, along the horizon, across the triangulations lore we’ve been taught to fear…until finally reaching the land of plenty, a shore so real.
The way I see her beauty is like the most precise declaration. It is the kind of sun that awakens the dead, if only to gleam her once before they sink into their graves again—where forever after their decay will be a time beyond well spent.