in the way that your lips shimmer and your eyes flash simile-smiles making many reflections
with the irregular undulations rhythm'ng off your tongue,
with words flying out lyrically, kissing everyone
we are touched and easily forgotten in this age of impermanent ink,
with our ears perched high on a mystery, we're overlooked
for speaking in clouds expectant of thunder,
for rustling leaves in a tree,
for threadbare jeans flaking mud from long walks by the river,
for taking solace in the Sea
among writers we are the infirm, the mad heretics of desire,
ridiculed for whiskers and soft-eyes,
for bumping into enjambments, fish-like
and working out destiny by changing it,
moving it, Moon like...
we are the occasional ones,
risking decay and our sanity
for these holy short comings
and goings,
rather than face the impossibility of facts
or that self-righteous blind-eye of economics ...
there is mercy in this daring,
there is an art to this astonishing,
beyond these reasons which trap us,
beyond our need to pay the rent,
while the world conspires to ignore us,
we swell
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is emotion an echo of the Sea inside the motion in you and me? - our hearts beat in the rhythm of waves, our brains luminesce in that swell, that vortex'ing roll where breath exhales, eyes gleam and our mouths form the words we tell - it's like we're whales exhaling a mystery we encountered when we dived deep to call to deep - like when we sleep, lulling as if in a Sea, these emotions we feel connecting us, surrounding us with a numinous luminosity ...
our knowledge is inflated, overstated, and a sell-fish fatal flaw, while the Sea heaves in wonder, a whirl'd turning deep-down below, and is under-understood by all of our wounded-reasons leaking what we think we know ...
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