Intonations of Perfection

Everywhere I look
I see
You, them, us, me.
 

Image by 1000heads via Flickr

The Intonations are innovations.
The Intonations are opinionated speculations,
logical theorized conclusions.
 
The seasons’ intonations have weakened lately,
but the sun shines more brightly now.
The rain falls heavier.
The cold…, the cold has ceased to freeze, to chill, to cool like the inexistent snow.
The waters’ quench, cool like metal, slakes like the honeydew’s nectar.
The smoke has thickened like a maritime fog,
grayer than the grayest day of the grayest winter.
The dreams’ arrivals, void of schedule, are surreal but lucid
and always in brilliant, delicious colors.
The smells like the tastes are oiled down,
but capable of inducing vivid pleasures and violent sicknesses.
 
Everywhere I look
I hear
music, cold, metal, fear.
 

Image by quinn.anya via Flickr

The music keeps being heard, meandering like an ancient mature river, like Bemister.
New but old, different but the same.
And like a madman’s psychotic voices,
the music never ends but it has never begun either.
It just is.
Like change.
 
Everywhere I look
I feel
cold, small, no, teal.
 

Image by jerseytourism via Flickr

It has taken me 18 years to begin to feel again.
At last.