By Culture

We die to fires, that violent spell, at treasures such tender affection; to fly as flitting, scraping gravel, as rifting roots. I saw your eyes, splintered those webs—excruciating grief: that thump my heart; that arc our winds; this place infused with pressures. I heard your smile, to crumble by knees, this terrible attraction. I saw a curse, as spinning through traffic, too late to abuse his eyes—this miracle viciousness, as plagued her grave, this urn of ashes—while given a picture, to hold for lights, those vacancies afforded his brains. I’ll die this river, as convicted dearly, despite this anguish; for hell is mirrors, running from faces, encased in a dungeon of mire—this muck by ponds, that duck as illness, that anger as simmering—to escape cuffs, this brilliant affliction, while treasured a curse—those tragic eyes, that tragic kiss, our tragic reality. I’ll fall by temples, apace with trifle, this hectic novitiate—as sensing a queen, while singing travesties, amused at such beauty; whereto, that harsh caress, to push passed possession, that plural hut—as dyed in crimson, this magic for words, accursed for silence—that inner trite, as spectacular light, to find it all terrific—those rising wings, that dying phoenix, this bird by fires those eyes—as cursed to live, or living by curse, this force by candent mystics—where whispers call, as churned through rest, over a decade of sleeping tides—that chide he lived, as soaring through fields, this valley an alley next to grieving: as opposed by honor, this culture of misfits, afforded one last dance; to music sorely, those precious hearts, as arc’d in passions. I’ll crave this death, to adventure this curse, while born to fawn existence; that nature of worship, nearly desensitized, this lie he lived for freedoms—as flipping in tongues, a pagan of mother’s, flying for scudding so close to gravel—as majestic fires, those riveting ripples, that flash by ghosts adrift: if dyed his life, as never before, this invented color—as chastised afar, those perfect persons—a damn curse! I saw a foot, leaning into infinity—I grabbed an arm; for hell is rich, while heaven is trials, where confrontation abuses our mirrors. I thought a sound, this mystery thick, a blast to his dreams—as moving through traffic, afforded one last surgery, infused by such rabid logic; that pretty catastrophe, as ends to days, where one spends his life at mourning; to see such joy, as born to freezers, pointing that hellish wand. I’ll die this curse, at distance to distance, as adding between us a universe; for days are hectic, this cadent math, as too dumb to chase a phantom: that craft of souls, as afraid of living, that kingdom of ponds; as feeding geese, to witness such flapping, a swan to winds; as agreeing with passions, that crave to soar, afforded this deep reversal. It came by treasures, so cute to play, as to hear such strangling words. We die this way, as playing for fun, while one is strategic for keeps; but more to life, as more to cursed, this force as haunting his dreams—where mothers cringe, at tears to witness, that son at warfare.  (We ask questions, when life is askew, while we sort through answers; for this is living, as mature wisdom, fleeing those shady crevices; where worms wiggle, while ants pillage, this pattern by winters; those beige eyes, at courage to lie, while father nods his gestures; those teal miracles, to catch a glimpse, while one is reminded of our futures; as lived a villain, at pace a woman, to carve with ease a man’s death. We see a shadow, this trite example, where by sights our impressions: that sick river, that open bible, those dictums to those at wars; or more to nothing, living as rubric, at tears to frolic through literature: that crazed soul, perceived as normal, as one foots all bills. I’ll live this life, with souls that bleed, by courage as firebirds).