Greeting
& Salutations Love;
I’m
a papyrus, a page of remorse, a bit of a hypocrite; a man of woes, a religious
soul, made holy at points; to show this death, that fevered wilderness, roaming
Addict’s Alley: that christic heartbeat, that terrible mentality, this hate by
love for mother; as cryptic souls, or mystic songs, racing to purgatory; as
cried his life, this symbol for justice, as one at psalms that human tinge;
where fathers grieve, as mothers soothe, our soothsaying joys: that casual
crime, that formless law, our daughters confused. I speak of rivers, that
ancient tremble, as scolded and admonished—to retrieve this life, as redeemed
afar, but held to deaths by humans. It gets this way; our punished hearts; at
legacies those screaming mirrors. I shiver tarantulas; I ache with crickets; I boo
and moan in agony—this breathing insanity, our castles aborted, our stars
pleading our ghosts: if but that night, our beating pulses, our mothers
redeemed: if but that cry, as solid to existence, to die before trespass; but
these are agonies, as groaning in spirit, to travel too deep that scar—as one
ruined, those dregs eschewed, our women crossing streets; but souls aflight,
this forest of texture, as redeemed that love through eyes; that fatal return,
as treasured our hearts, while to stipple harmonies. If music is gentle, that
creek of tears, to find we love as symbols: that cultic sanity; those deep
rituals; that honor to Tai Chi—as more our Tao, or majestic cadence, that light
flickering, that candle as brains, that spider spinning as Charlotte’s Web—to
see us grinning, at chili cheese fries, that closer to healing—as life is
lived, soaring through eyes, to find a beating venom; as harnessed our
weaponries, at battles this justice, if but this flight through mystics. I took
to love, that shy resistance, feuding by memories that infant crib; as
garnished his soul that redeemed texture, reading as to ravish his brain: those
cryptic tales; that woman smiling; our grandparents becoming orchestras; to
sign a portrait, that legacy living, as announced a forehead kiss. I roam a
desert, while building tents, at one with our Carpenter: that dream we cherish;
that core manifestation; that appearance as rich convergence: if but a myth, we
explain everything, revealing our
inner sails—at aches our lemur eyes, cherished as meerkats, as precious as
swans.
