Gambling With Time

He’s a bundle, at lifetime warfare, as darkness to ravens—such frisky spirits, as livid his liver, at torn disconnections; to profess faith, or captured at love, falling for rising our black lagoon; to tread gently, at penalty a diamond, attempting at more than a corpse: that mental magazine; that deck of cards; that horrid casino—at gambles to perish, a fist full of dice, that dance to wrongness.     I braid a thought, affected by kindness, while suspicious our oceans.     I felt a puma, that human head, that eagle’s wings; as sung delirium, at stumbles to justice, but a genius savant—where mother cries, as fraught in purgatory, to inhale a crescent moon; those famished signs, as screaming to silence, by witness to tragedies unseen: that gleaming spark; those florid deaths; our minds at commiseration.     I saw glints, those terrific and tragic and terrifying eyes—where Love shivers, but a second in vices, at terrors to placate addictions: that fast movement; those inverted tremors; that language to liquid bodies—insofar, a curse, or father’s mercy, to placate a monster—as churned his brains, but paired with horrors, so exclaimed in majesty—that tugging engine, our zoetic styles, but so curious to touch for dreams; that fabulous ache, so disconnected, but too melded to clutch passions: that daughter’s magic, her father’s cadence, our morning stars—as to flee, while pausing, scraping a fertile blotch—in such as life, to cipher through feelings, gasping at noetic images: that beige dayfly; that curious gadfly; our cymbals crashing through ceilings—as turned your vision, cleaving to presence, so inclined that fatal breath: our nimbus arcs, such zest and zeal and pure enthusiasm: that flying portrait, to hover his senses, as something connected to manhood malice: that terrible conquest; that chorus through passions; or that feeling yearning but lost—a net of fireflies, at speech to perish, resting upon a chert rock—those marble replies, as deaf to flames, that shovel to granite earth: so terrific a nightmare, that intricate rook, those sandstone eyes—as daughters sickle     through mental terrain     concretizing wine rocks: such atypical art, our sunny suede, adjusting by sky-fires; at likes with treatises, an ankh by dungeons, a pendant by life; as ever to passions, our theorems to values, our hearts as sapphires.     I broke a necklace, fleeing for crawling, so filled with feelings—that peace running, but ever flirtatious, to visit enough to miss—indeed, a heart-key, those crisscross affections, our coupling tears; to effect growth, a locket to a dream, by agonies so vivid—our Amazon creatures, as features of silence, our equator so temperamental.     He’s sprinting to Love, that famous swan, allergic to mishaps—to function as pictures, our inner reflections, to sense with silence a vibrant presence: that heart-jaguar, that coyote brain, those army ants as providing examples—where love is permanent, but gray by treasuries, while music becomes insufferable: that plight to honors, that inner eagle, those wings cracking our ribs—our minds as polecats, the stealth of wild cats, our inheritance a cage of parrots; wherewith, comes inculcation, to repeat it daily, this terror by hopes as superglue; thereat, are songs, this inner resilience, that person screaming for juries—to scan a claim, those posits by vices, where belief is too credulous: that ink-print tern, peering at benighted bats, by prayers an Asian lion—wherefrom, our nights, that swan a masked owl, as more those Egyptian eyes.