We embark afar, this lone wolf, those
terrifying coyotes: this brave swan, those kleptic hearts, this ravished
reservoir: as pure souls, inverted for thwarted, at telic abandonment: this
fuel driven, this psych winded, our professors grading with disgusts: those
introjects, this mountain peak, our eyes to promise reluctant to travel: if but
rhinestones, this whetstone fortress, this whet hankering—as phantasmagorias, sentenced
to survival, while at mixtures this blended margarita—those atmospheric-space-feelings,
this steep concentration, those mothers ecstatic this coming existence: our
daughters to colleges, our fathers to head-storms, our souls inflective
machines: this rigid lake, this muddy marsh, this magpie laughing at beadles. (We create serenity, this inner
therapeutic, this enraged woman seeking beyond desires: this placemat, this
invisible energy, this roaring monsoon: our Asian wisdom, our African tribes,
this effort in Kenya—to chance upheaval, pictured in London, signing for panic
this endless prison: to love, wherewith, as stricken with four lives, at
membrance this bipolar-rocket-essence—if but lethargic, this universe within, to glean as sentenced that
sudden fire-dart: our Cajun inheritance, our European sophistications, this
mental Elizabeth besprinkled upon womanly achievements—those gray aircrafts,
this seated ensuing, our shifts with lights a given source—that radical
brain-fen, this flapping by feathers, our ceilings but a gnat’s resilience: as
granny’s child, or grandfather’s project, subject to hours admiring this
Chinese vase: those beige endeavors,
this love for revolting, our feelings as clouded this whiff of excitement—as
yearning through pressures, alas, to cry, this devout feature whining to
pavements). It was good to love,
those days of yore, our resistance weighing heavy upon our tonsils: our wiggly
invites, those tears to Jamaica, this furious force outwitting its
possession—where kingdoms perished, while infants ruled, as graduation becomes this
series of piercings: this woman moaning, this man at debates, our siblings
crossed for threshed seeking revivals: our panic cut, our tyrannies vicious,
this feeling of more lost in everything.
I
haunted houses, this ghost afore, at wars those sentient aggravations—that
small crevice, this rabid furnace, our wants while convicted this steep
inheritance: our nights to literature, as lost to imaginings, to find with
culture our protected silence—as music cringes, this closet affection, at birth
seeping for dwelling into freedoms: thereto, this enchantress moon, this
bleeding sun, those stars as carrying wretched elations—where ‘ologies resound,
as souls ollie, whereat, this perfidious nudging towards disaster: that woman
knitting, those holy crochets, this well
screaming this censored language—to die by freedoms, as free to restrain, while
pudding feels a boxy concern; those ferns laughing, this tumbleweed weaving,
those desert sharks baptizing loners.
(I love as dying, this myriad of fields, this disease questioning
humanity—or more this feeling, as abreast too many novels, this rich investment
in appropriate conduct—as one a villain, suppressed in cravings, while,
nonetheless, behaving accordingly: those gorgeous cries, as tugged from
beneath, where men need desirable passions: this splendiferous woman, too sexy
for gazes, as alarming this inner man: that feeling to sing, as sung by demons,
to tug at something which evaporates: our southern comforts, our northern
windmills, this combination destroying its subjects: as curious souls, those
shapely figures, this lust uprising through excitements: to turn left, as
craving righteous, while found brooding at rivers: this horrid soul, fetid with
spirits, while wrestling for decencies: our horrid philosophers, this tale by
Schopenhauer, this theologian’s redemption: as torn to seeds, bleeding
reflections, while wretched a thought too close those measures; where mother
mocks, as father is distant, while this repeated life demands clarity: those
chimpanzees, accorded this force, a tear void of moral dialogues—as fleeing
souls, or trapped mongrels, trapped in furious freedoms).
