Oh
for this war, our fretted glory, to clash by desires—or rise by terror, this
fixated man, our influx drowning kindness; to move by souls, our affairs to
mercies, as cursed our last tryst…that vineyard sinning, our kleptomania—that
faraway tenderness—as kissed a dread, by far his leather, where love broke
insanity. I’m craving fairness, this world of grandparents, while at tales that
Ghost; to sing eternal, this liquor bruise, reading by candlelight: our jaded
daughters, at wars with addictions, by far dreaming through prayer-like
activities—to solace self, at treasures to escape, while wrapped in kinships…
those words grieving, that stale
odor, those resin pipes—as running terms, this agenda of brokenness, that need
for kindness: if but to perish, this movie on repeat, our days inducing anger
in myriad souls; to grip by necks, this flux of persons, pulling for ripping
his very guts….
I’ve died forever, too clever to
feel, while to harness a rampage: that evil light, as beauty would cleave, to
touch by pelvis this immortal sin: if but to live, a man to deaths, at horrors
our Cinemax: as watching aches, or becoming cartoons, floating between
knowledge and rain stupidity…
to grieve aborted, at treasures to
sense life, angered by it wasn’t his: that steep redemption, as carried that
life, while amused to have destroyed unwanted love. It comes to hells, while
greeted by bells, this siren ringing by glossy eyes; to shift returns, those
returns to shift, where only self is aware of deception; to ride that cloak,
until terror rings that mirror destroying its image….
I
heard silence, to embrace fixation, while to argue for jest that devastation.
We mourn our moon, as graphed in
dead-prints, afflux this cadence: our terrifying war; our blessings as ghosts;
our music by graves; that fatal paradox, a box in hats, a rabbit as sinner—to mock kindness, as far evolved,
asearch for one that dogs its pray…
our
swans as livid, where to fathom is crooked, so less to sympathizing and more to
confronting; to ask that story, to force for clarity, while parents acquiesce
to vagueness.
I
see a heart, this arc invented, that spray of sprinkles: our daughters
writhing, our mothers at pretend, such grandiose flames; where tales are told,
as holding religion, our palms exploding with false impressions; to mingle his
life, peering at shadowy eyes, a man to tithes for freedoms: a thousand psalms;
at four different quadrants; appearing to self as radical…to ask psychology,
that probing humanity, as graced to fall through answers: this beige intention,
as vague as intentions, as wanting this velvet by disgrace: that pudding
quicksand, while reaching for vines, this Tarzan adventure…at needs to love
you, as seeing his-self, that myriad of persons…while called crazy, this
amazing deployment, a bit evolved for textures; that lonely wolf; that
brilliant jaguar; that tree speaking through illusions: our walls crawling; our
vestibules barking; our grabbing becoming lethal; to kiss by petals, this fragile
invention, while at silence to determine longevity. It becomes life, this
disliking, while thrust into behaviors; to love by shells, while disgruntle by
innards, as one to utter total disgust. I see a vision, while loving tension,
at once, to become involved: that heart-Porsche; that mental Lamborghini; our
Chevys rushing through cemeteries—if but to expand, this life of angels, our
cherubs mourning as clowns—that frigid smile, or those static outfits, our
worlds as caricatures; to sense with panic, this deep rejection, while yearning
for prestige: those gray endeavors, to wean injustice, while hardened by
fevers.
