We
met a friend through a fist fight; the night churned, to spin a daze, to love
the lectures. Oh to relax, fifty pages in, to dissect the Scriptures. I’m
finding life, as found to self, a verse embedded deeply: that inner cry, that
torn discomfort, the heart as a vacuum. Its art the mares, to give for
strength, a woman as pillar; to faint in stress, and gravel the days, to morph
into an Anakim. It’s long your time, to rise through yeast, a beast as survivor.
We know for hate, to venture towards love, as a method for self; to die this
wave, the eyes of a swan, captured in a spiral. She loves you golden, to fly a
feral furnace, totally alive in death. Oh to beckon, the rapture of deepness,
the kiss of professors; to fall with psychs, and rise with queens, that wealth
of inner wills.
I
live for you, a stranger of dreams, screaming at a television; this thing
within, this facial spirit, and fully discontent. It hopped the light, to make
for notice, a torrent of anger. I fell the chair, to wonder of why, to curse
the ignorance. Oh for thunder, to feel otiose, or a pawn in a dungeon; where
phantoms deigned, to show as shadows, the measure of this pontification; and
gods heard, to swoop and swarm, a nation of daughters. I never spoke it, the
esoteric, a world of intellectuals; to claim the river, to know its flow, a
fraction of the spectrum. We love you both, as pilgrims—of this vast ocean; in
which is life, a friend unseen, a woman afraid; and the earth churns, to see
your essence, and midnight fire; to dream and die, as dead-alive, a million
miles that star.
