I’ve had some sacred moments,
hearing angels getting set to fly.
Still some confusion is apparent
as the soundtracks of my life collide.
It isn’t music necessarily,
but sound it is, though visualized;
reverberations of the bells
augment the silence that appears inside.
Behind me, ashes of desire,
edit news that isn’t fit to print.
My only sacrifice is fire,
burning castles that are made of hints.
Electric body language fantasies
are wet intentions, as they pass
the point of mist. My inhalations
reason with the leaves of grass.