…you’re rare by creatures, a thought to
atmospheres, a conglomerate missile: this pain seeping, at crevices remote, our
sediments speaking Spanish: to limelight passions, our mental footlights, this
scrape about a baby’s toe: those florid addictions, this crispy thought, those
legacies seeing in taboos: our carved landscapes, this savannah’s legacy, our
valleys by velvet plums…at course to retreat, while passion’d at miseries, of
course, reaching for hopes: those dreams this arc, that pillar of fireballs, this
man seated in firebrand…as cut for losing, those interests by months, where two
become overly familiar: incipient hatred, or casual admiration, while Sammy
poses as possible fulfillments: this wistic
feeling, this weltic arch, this wellic art—to season catastrophes, at
tears by perfect sex, where gestures trigger mother’s oceans: this place within, this mystic remembrance, our
synaptic sky-fixtures: as washed woodlands, this inner frontier, our music
screams…. I was sickly, about a curse,
reading through, Brimhall…this angel’s clarinet, reaching by deaths, aborted to
life…this bare existence, this naked travesty, this tragic luxury—as psychs
dreaming, refuted by visions, to copy with passions those reticent fears…or
more this diamond, so small so petite, carrying as alone this infant
penchant…that man to cities, as cried his life, to appear to womb fraught by
birth-controls. I spasm gently, as
affected by change, where Love was cautious that explosive demand: those
abstract breaths, this gardener’s scars, our peaches as ripe for plucking. […you scream with silence, this baffling
conundrum, a man at riddles by pitfalls…this chatty flower, this pensive
pencil, those pantomime expressions—while rendered for kef, this region in
souls, about a dungeon reaching for swans…this falling majesty, this rising
Hades, our conquering for tragedies as conquests….]. It was lit for love, this force so deadly,
picturing this life of suitors…that brilliant disaster, as claiming victim, but
content this well of dim darkness…to cry was futile, to release was crucial, as
finding this wrestling with humanness: that tender reed, those figs mocking,
this sudden eclipse…as repeating cycles, while father condones, our pains
sensing this flippant mattress…as casual scars, abated with time, where ruins
become normality. We fix to redeem,
while claiming this fair existence, where secrets cut this feeble
structure…those constant debates, this incessant problem, this fist to wails
exclaiming innocence: this inner you-ness,
that portal’s whatness, that
outer thatness—where Love is
gorgeous, this need to prevail, while daggers thrust as poisoned spears: our
guts to feelings, as luxurious mediocrities, while sensationalized by
Hollywood…as watching myriads, this feeling as lucre, our characters fraught by
lies…this season to sexes, that season to treacheries, our notions knitted by
self-interests: where lover(s) quarrel, as rapt’d to webs, while attempting to
perfect this sightless model: our dreams to panic; our hearts to frenzies; this
place in mother’s skull: our daughters laughing, as adorned with gems, to sense
with life this penchant sanity: our cavy feelings, those rites to selves, where
it felt sensational as center attraction: that dying limelight, this newborn
damsel, our women becoming gentlemen. (…a
few, I love yous, to set our pace,
while a dream stitches realities…this carnivorous agony, those charming lies,
this archeological excavation: those pains to feelings, this winter to screams,
as autumn settles in textures…our mathematicians, our buoyant feathers, this
steep galaxy by canyons…those trenchant pits, as alone with love, our eyes
forbidden our rescues: if but to science, this paradigm by excellence, if not
for this pyramid of emotions…that violin reaching, those harps to dementias,
this psalm as appearing in colors: our logic approach: our sentences to
numbers: our genius resistance…as casual fliers, this message embedded, our
last love letter….).
