I lit a clove, this caressing feeling,
this airwave portrait: our kind solaces, our pasty aches, this river but dried
molasses. I toppled a drink, at fires
with coffee, drinking pure energy: that seal lingering, this image but
illusion, our lethargic futures—where birds whistle, as pythons wink, while
meerkats snuggle: this cringing voice, at havens by delusions, at carnivals
this living-room caricature. I lit a
clove, at love this essence, so close to suggesting nuances: this internal
workshop, this therapeutic, those years perfecting sophistications: our
honeysweet barbeque; our bell-peppers with beef; our filet mignon steaks: this
jagged space-cave, this nibbling passion, this streaming gown—as opiate whites,
or cannabis greens, this trench separating religions—as pure death, alive this
entrance, to sacrifice feeling awkward.
I lit a clove, admiring this visage, favoring her spine: I saw remorse,
cursed to resistance, where unsaid folly dwells within: this repeated movie, this dying motif, those redundant
themes: at rain-tears, or bear wars, conversing with ferrets: (such gray skies,
but gloomy smoke, baiting hooks—this music as walking, this valley as desolate,
this one green dragon: our fires bleeding, our hearts at rituals, our love
censored as contagion). I squeezed
oranges, as blended with lemons, but a touch of kiwi: I ate pastrami fries, a
measure of ranch, a measure of frustration: I ached a feeling, slammed into
dreams, awakened by ghostly chills: this steep inheritance, this flying miracle—our
years to recanting a mutual error: this antsy dust, this dusky passion, this
complaisance as borderline depression: our muddy eyes, cleansed with fevers, at
terrors this emotion for pains: that gravid sensation, those timeless
tentacles, this reach as losing its rendezvous.
I felt with ghosts, as self-acclaimed, soaring for fried this natural
whirl-circuit—our cagey cries, fumbling through manuscripts, those seconds to
completion—our rabid sensorium(s), this trenchant for essence, this substance
while self-invented—as charisma bubbling, or an omen countenance, this other
world besprinkled as voiceprints: this clove sightless, this mountain but
glimpses, this deterioration unto nothingness:
while watching philosophies, as morbid a child, and far too
underdeveloped—where dignity stirs gravel, this drinking of sediments, this
churning gut—as vomit with blood, this vein dancing, our weaving becoming too
intense.
[…you drift skies, crumbling crayons,
fumbling through mental sketches: our classy daughter, this miracle sibling,
this fleet of secret castles: this grown household, this Rubik’s Cube, this
exponential challenge: as seething politically, or writhing with sincerity,
slapping for yelling a cigarette to earth: our wellic cries, as torn
existentially, trekking this lagoon of mystics: this wavy feeling, this rising
heart, those stumbling kittens: where ventriloquists live, while veterinarians
hear wolf-hounds, this essence drawing cultic blood. You invite ghosts, those steep experiments,
rereading psalms: this partial read, hearing such contempt, scorned for naivety:
this space streaming, those gutty responses, this trenchant fascination—where
Mary sings, as Samson dies, our hearts carrying Martyrs: this woman to flames,
this man to lions, this cleaving for craving this divine shadow—as resistant
appearances, this wretched sub-passage, those facial visitations: that part to
perish, this world to gold, our aches blended with unrealities: this chasing by
leaves, this colorful teddy bear, our hopes filled with dreams: as jaded souls,
enmeshed in analyses, our speech becoming aphoristic: this tacky disposition,
while carved a realist, speeding by enthusiasm: our sins covered, this fluffy
puppy, our years to three Golden Retrievers.
You sight misprints, as a blueprinted soul, fleeing for flying those
nights to feelings: this conglomerate mystic, or this sagic Buddhist, or God
forbid this percolating Catholic—as sheer to humble, or thrust for madness,
this agony afloat a keen intellect: our minds as machinery, our muscles
requiring training, this vest by one so silent….].
