Sestina

September 23, 2010
A head stretched towards the settling sky

Barely reaching, melodiously curing the swollen heart’s malady by wind

Wanting to be apart of that heavy decade; I am not the kind- this skin


nostalgic mornings where boy, and girl, and yellow schoolbus in another dimension

Some tribal awakening, colored leaves in park or polaroid forest with parkas in the dark

How invigorating to have such infinite pleasure in uninterrupted isolation



Like when the adrenaline recalls the blinds projected on collaged wall in isolation

Just to sleep for a thousand years, curled on edged whiteness in ethereal dark

Leaping onto limitless masses, that were thought to be so impalpable in the sky

But only through these reoccuring sound waves can I be thrust into that dimension

Accompanied by careless trust in enveloping wind

I dreamed of becoming another; I was once another; I wore their skin


I’m still stupid. She’s better off for you. I’m still learning; she needs to release her skin
you epilepsy dance, and it was quite funny, and I was just laughing in isolation
and these are the times when I don’t need to be smart, I can just be in funny dimension
being apart of everyone and everything. I don’t belong. I need to be with them in the sky
and maybe then will I be transformed brilliant; take me unconscious by wind
paralyzed in fear, they say it’s ohkay because it’s all innocuous anyway, in the loud dark

so tell me then, what I can do to apply to you and everyone we know apart from the dark
I’m supposed to be such a burning example; I’m supposed to be engaging- my skin
Tells stories not of gorgeous genius, but of youth, spunk; strip me by wind
After all things learned, regurgitation ceases to exist, exiting off-white in isolation
And not minding being ugly, but beautiful through articulation like a polluted sky
it just wouldn’t be fair to escape and get lost in irrational motives: the 11th dimension

until one thinks maybe the purpose is the complete opposite of a perfect dimension
that maybe, it is the work, the required energy to ignite endergonic reaction from the dark
not needing to emboss a quick impression, pre-programmed, in the claustrophobic sky
because not everything can magically coalesce into fairy-dust bologna skin
says the soft and heavy sunset peach, in her dipping Irish voice, holding cheap isolation
and suddenly destiny temporarily stops screaming under 6 foot grounded wind

as sweat drips down my body’s line of broken cement, I cannot hinder helping wind
to feel so vulnerably exhausted blows down comfort upon, what is stilled dimension
to the seemingly fleeting lands of cracked German bench greens will it displace isolation
continuously swimming in these endless strands of fluourescence bleaches me not dark
but with fluttering upbeat confusion in blank-white complexedness, breathes the skin


that once clawed out from over top , underneath, and inbetween, reveals anticipating sky



all uncertain selves exit temporal isolation, reviving each one by untainted wind

our inflatable dreams can wash up a cryptic sky in myraid dimension

but these horrific projections haunting in the dark, become the ultimate reminders of


















the elasticity of our ever-coating skin





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