It stands as, Love, by opera wings, gazing
upon jasper glitter: this terrible passion, as laughing at mirrors, a soul too
gone our seventh quarter: this hankering agenda, at Love by frustration, such
by shattering dire conventions: this wheezing frenzy, agaze’d by sun-fevers,
this primrose ecstasy—to ache as dreaming, this vision within acorns, to unmask
by terminal tensions: this face elated, as chased through meadows, our wolves
as delicate: by cedar roots, or pine odors, such to flesh as supporting its
last death—this palm extended, such as wrists so perfect, by moonlight, bestial
sensations. I die to dreams, romantic as
songbirds, that picturesque mind—as livid a madman, this thing to clearances,
by breath our palates musing gourmet: that lion afar, afire a threshing, our
flames so driven so deadly—as broken with sickles, living as afflicted, but a
wish those tears to mornings: such casual sin, as captured at trespasses, leery
about Dante’s kingdom. It lives a
possession, to ache vehemently, to cry an infant’s graces: those tresses by
echoes, or graves by resurrections, such as living through shanghais voltages:
that curious soul, those bubbling eyes, this irremovable black sword—as levied
through life, or lowered to gravel, pleading for writhing in sheer
matrimonies—that fragrant mist, those ocean cries, our sky-speckled alibis: if
but for torture, I’d oblige, if but for torturous savannahs—those cheetahs
sprinting, our fairest eagles, our meerkats carving frantically—by honor this Love,
as celestial cages, those tides to sprinkles as trans-splendid allegories—where
days were glory, as but a second for millennia, at breath our sheets struggling
for paradise: our cold oasis, our seconds to rebirths, this outward
inversion—as jasmine lilies, or white pearls, our toes barreling into tan
mud. I have this longing, while
scratching this sticker, fueled by eternal dreams: if but as perfect, if but
extravagance, if but your soul tugging our skies: that crazed alibi, those
enslaved treasuries, this right as given to presume destiny: as but mahoganies,
or off-our-centers, by cores traveling towards detriments—as but a feature,
laughing our feelings, as spacial as planetariums: our giraffe hindsight, this
leopard’s strength, as given too much becoming that seer with visions. (Sails are flapping, this life as chosen,
sitting such stillness to move: that furious Love, as predicted in manuscripts,
our eternal voltage: this dream by motion, as ruined in time, our minds willing existence: this faraway Love, this
moonlit feeling, this want to chase as best it may give: our casual hearts,
this yachting soul, to see with deaths this chase as living: our mad dreams,
our pursuits to feel, this bowel of existence: to curse with time, our eyes
bigger than vacuums, our revisions depended upon earlier drafts: that achy
heart-thresh; those testy footprints; running for adrift debating that hint of
elation. We exist languishing, our
rustic city lives, our deepest anxieties; as felt a magnet, at sheer
resistance, to realize this chase: as never for lightning, this misfortunate
soul, but more to skiing familiar slopes: or life to Love, that remarkable
star, at essence this visual imprint: as flowerers blooming, or skies raining,
this beauty to dance through mire—as sheer perfection, that inner fantasia,
this Love conjured by adolescence). I
need its source, to negotiate its worth, as dug for trenches our brilliant
minds. I spoke to chauffer(s), I
agonized queens, if but this village narrowed down to genetics: those remote islands,
those cavelike pits, these wildlife roots: our Tarzan souls, our superhuman
strengths, this vacuum at centers our faceless, Love: if but to sing, or thrust
into chess, to seize with armor this vehicle as nameless: this body of
feelings; this sky-craft of emotions; this atypical wingspan: to know for
clearance, rummaging a pirate’s treasuries, while searching high-planes: that
tiny ant, as fueled with wisdom, those headless horsemen: as more this vest, to
besiege this fortress, reading valiantly those memoirs by God; for Love is
free, this freedom to souls, while standing afar effecting reactions: that
intense fire, that sudden tidal-wave, this deep sleep while searching for data:
as born through darkness, as such is darkness, this trillion dollar air-voice.
