The Soul is a Series of Episodic Vignettes
fade out from the camera lens
the lotus bloomed from the broken glass soil
all things came into perspective
as every toil was put into focus
every shard set a different scene
a series kaleidoscopic
following film made of a red thread
sewn in a fashion erratic and episodic
singing songs of worship to the mirror man
in a language no one understands
babble in the porcelain white room
to build a tower to bark universal demands
a burning body stands tall
arms open upon barren fields of salt
something cosmic in the clouds
a shadow looms all around
blinking eyes at blinding speeds
lashes thrash like whips cracking
a moth’s frantic wings flapping
bleeding from the glue trap’s seating
under a city’s light
the rain plummets peaceful
residents amble awkward
on thin dotted lines
in the neon glow
there is oxygen and there is evil
the cars smell of
fentanyl smoke and chemical pine
a white horse with several heads
gallops down the plain
hooves hammering rhythms,
the seventh trumpet’s valves
censer swinging from the chain,
a mist made from myrrh
beautiful speeding specter
guiding foals and calves
endless scenes that flutter and flash
a upon a malleable mind
the clicking of film reels,
the chopping of fresh vegetables
reaching a revelation,
the vocation to be kind
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