Friday, April 25, 2014

Asuncion, c’est fluide

Jesse S. Mitchell

So wonder at the eyes so monstrous that wander dead aimless over golden words so luminous without that brief divinity or ponderous pause and blameless.
And chill to believe we are thinking beasts of sounds and movable joints and bones of imagination, stories so bold and overflowing
And trusting things so close to ease and beautiful that uncoiling lets slack the soul and drifting
Makes incredible speed over all the surface of all the everythings.
But hail, hail, hindsight, that we do not expire escaping, without letting free one breath from our lips without knowing its destination.
The predetermined tribe, the fate, the fated, the living life,
The demonic by any other name
But the angels by desire.
The joy, the burning, the consuming in the fire.

No comments:

Post a Comment