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( FOR APRIL BRATTEN)

In those things that transcend a single thought
phrase or a cold and fierce word, the touch flutters
as if those things that have become rock bottom
begin to dance with the purity of drunk lightning
bugs.

A moments need that crosses the water ( in a hurry)
with the magic touch of those things considered
cult, It is in the suffocation of many believers that
one or two can be found, transcending chaos in
triumphant shapes of the metaphysical.

And what have I become so eagerly to love, in pure
folds of the immense astonished, the lyrical taste of
heated bellies that spew how I felt in another voice,
forever it has been you in the candor of blazing speech.

There are senses that fall apart when intensity takes
control, faces hide in the folds of personal shadows,
they don’t want to show, they want to run with the
legs of a rabbit, Nevertheless the tones of flesh will
tighten as if a door was locked on earlier forms of the
final, the cloud bears fruit.

Soon. In all the powers that corrupt, the mirrors will
fall in on each other, break and create one side that
sees the other, but both personalities blended, four in
total, creating passions in one. Extraordinary among
the jealous.

And I breathe with the mouth of a heathen( ready to burn
for those things touched by personal religion), and not for
flesh, but for a unique transcending point into the wilderness
of your pain, to find a skilled love that sings with electric
brown eyes.

The heart is sheeted with sophistication, a soft twitch, a
recorded voice in an ear that only destroys what is thought
of as power,

And then there is me, tortured in a love that shows risk in
things that read the beast…

To love her, to rage against the hate matched earlier, to sense
things in daring words of pathology, a bulk of matter and fat
ripping at the abstract theories of myself, a full sigh, a kiss given
to my hearts mind.

To you, what is written softly, moaning so deeply. I watch the soul
shift daily, exploding with the lonely atom bombs, but you are
the brightest mushroom cloud, coiling into the atmosphere, erasing
what was there, before and in the future.

To you, I give the madness a boost…

(c) Frank Reardon 8-12-09

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