We
live with caution, filled with fevers, a beast to the soul—a soul to beast. I
love you with more; I feel you with silence; the world is that closer. It’s
never fair, and ever fair, to ponder karma. I love you, a bit deaf, a sideways
parent—to see it live, this voice of love, drifting through auctions. Its
madness, Love; a room of casualties, steady at screaming. See it and filter—the
lights and cameras, the hiss and stings. I was born there, to see results, a
mother writhing; and no one saw, to hear for wisdom, to die the whetstone;
where passion dwells, the flicker of the flame, even mystic infusion; to grind
love, into little particles, fleeing our cultures; to think for sudden, the
longest road, to still for joy. I love you, to think you, a season unrestrained. There’s much to watch, for young the eyes, to wail the exits; to
look for backs, singing and sailing, the graph in beige; for this is life,
between here and there, screaming the halleluiahs. I love you and wait the
final outcome—to see for life, shrouded in death—that closer to spinning the
alleluias; where breath is reach, to master concentration, to become a Sensei.
Oh for Zen and mystic fusions the drift of this panic. We want it more, to live
through codes, to impart a heartbeat. We feel it, even the rainbow, skipping
through colors; and oh the eyes, as pure as thoughts, as vexed as mother; and
dear the Christ, we’re flipping lines, that angered for love; but this is
life—to see and perish, to live and smile; where pain trickles, and fathers
manage, and mothers sketch: the feelings, the tides, the features. We reappear,
Love—a bit for frantic, the coldest slant, bouncing through zones of hope.
