We live life, as sojourners of truths, abandoned to critical exegeses:
this floret upheaval, those tentacle feelings, our deserted rafts—where
imprints ramble, while pantomimes fire,
as clowns insist at symbols of existence: this reckless carnival, those conniving
ferrets, this parakeet repeating our agonies.
(It was miseries, aborted to lakes, our precious souls determined by
lights: this rising root, by mugging disasters, admired for purchased through
lusts…as, notwithstanding, this immortal grape, those penchants becoming
slavery: our inner Europe, our origin Africa, a car as sudden to alarms: this
euphoric energy, as wellic an alley,
disturbed for passions those fatidic skies—where wine is blood, our Eucharist
planets, this wafer an image those eyes: to die while breathing, to breathe was
dying, our essence forsook to heaven).
I’m artifacts found, or earrings lost, or that subtle buzzing stemming
from televisions: or Suzan marching, this analyst scouring, our brains to
cities inflicted with sorrows—as casual lamps, seated upon trestles, but silent
witnesses: or courageous vines, as unvoiced a scar, while tortured an upsurge:
thereto, this monster breeding, at blossom our leviathan, at home-base an
engine revving its destiny: herewith, are drums, this tribal sensation, this
radical butterfly. [It’s been pensive,
longing for closure, as found while reviewing illusions: this mirror, gentle,
as rising with vengeance, where chairs topple to silence: those creaking aches,
this dusty fan, our towels moist with tears: or reviving with laughter, our
spouses to concerns, where bagels are adorned with tomatoes: this mental
watermelon, this emotional cantaloupe, that one cherry so destined its mines:
thither, that portion, and hither, that potion, within this enterprise of crumbling buildings…where days were good, or disguised as elation, to come to walls warring for
destruction—or livid a curse, our grumbling stomachs, this city promoting this
bias argument—where perfect are humans, despite, our flawed skills, while it
feels excellent to achieve monarchy]. I
disappear, returning with thoughts, sensing this fragile wheel—while spinning
its current, our nights to graves, this oblivious ache by rising pheasants:
those tales sold, our fathers to purchases, our bodies to melding with
deceptions: (but never this thought, this rabid theologian, this abased thing treated as Paul): to courage with
time, this parasitical algorithm, our minutes at peace a delusional
calculation: where fire seizes, as loins erupt, our guts our business our
closets: this telic retribution, our mules and acres, this feral
insistence—therewith, that innocent claim, as perfect a lie, while at deep
terrors this instance of secrets: our mothers suspicious, our interrogation
lenient, our praises given while feeling malaise: indeed, to life, at full
respect, while washed with this desert of disdain: those gorgeous eyes, that porcelain
flesh, that hectic doorpost: if but to vanish, as living with intestines,
this mirror chasing its reflection: our shoulders screaming, this countenance
testy, this irritability tugging at tiles: to hate for lies, while living,
therewith, afflicted for carrying this sensation: as more to deaths, where time
was gentle, while existence becomes this pillar leaning upon soggy sands: [that
mechanic distance, this aloof legacy, our scientific approach to life: as
feeling agents, but, nonetheless, living as robots: to cut his thoughts, while
digging his brains, where contenders praise this unsightly ruling: our judges
to liquor; our mats to moisture; our doubts presiding over our realities: as
felt to goodness, this ruthless
refusal, while never a thought to receiving exact treatments: herewith, this
gray anxiety, fledglings and intentionality, souls and great disruption—or more
this mayfly, erupting into a dragon, tested for ruined a tulip soul.
