We’re prehistoric, as human dinosaurs, at
gutters trekking caves: this wire singeing, this sickle to guts, this belief in
Jesus: that fair death, those fair eyes, our apostolic charisma: this womanly
gait, that womanly charm, at arms another soul’s magnet: our shoebill
instincts, this modern mother, those sophisticated psychologists—as men fry,
dying this flight, at daughters that last tale: to cut gristle, our inner
grandparents, this ribeye steak: if but to panic, at love this domain, while
censored sorely this sherm leaf. I was
hellish, terrorizing our livers, racing as chased by authorities: that blunt to
souls, our lines to Yahweh, our vicarious concerns: as Garnier heroin, our
pear-feet wines, our symbolic plums—to meet with silence, this fool fretting
passions, at torn concerns this cauldron of guillotines: that soft music, this
glass of gin, our séance invoking energies: this woman to lands, this steep
abuse, as to manifest this immortal godsend.
I laugh to live, this ace in dungeons, our casino alibis: that table
leaning, those dice thrusting, this knife gutting its opponents: as apophatic
legends, or cataphatic Sufis, this term in prisons removing its slime: to die
as wretched, our Kierkegaardian curse, welcomed as dead-arteries praising
pragmatism: those mystic cries, that kitchen ritual, our fiddling unto sheer
disgusts: as granny lives, this plate for Africa, our Ethiopian wives: but
lemur genetics, or caiman semen, those prehistoric mystics—or medieval emotions,
or cavelike petroglyphs, or ancient synaptic gaps prior to evolution: that
small cut, to usher forth cemeteries, while rushing for survival that curse:
our brains as plural, our blood as acidic, this fleet of
army-ant-mind-infections: those mahogany ghosts, this maple deliverance, our hardwoods
seeping into vein-wars. I moved a lady,
while disturbing said force, at terror this recurrent theme: that drum raging,
that piano enslaving, this want for mergence while forbidding our animals: that
shy flower, that rubescent tulip, this nature in souls while prone to havens:
this sexual flight, this fly watching, as sought an ear to whisper: those gray
lies, this livid honesty, this wretched frenzy: as praying-mantis, digging into
gravel, while alarmed this ache but suggested: our walnut candles, this oaken
termite, those feelings destroying our realistic lakes. I fleece a swan, those redwood eyes, that
hazel configuration: those internal dreams, this screaming ocean, those octopus
waves—as men dying, or women carrying, this shark steering into consciousness:
our whale-wolves, our morbid coyotes, that ravishing dingo—as bongos resound,
this essence as leaking, this Latin firework: to live as racing, this inner
Lamborghini, that snort-heart-bottomless-pit—where thieves cherish, as perished
his thoughts, while Love paraded enlove with sadness: that endless chain, this
unborn resistance, to fire with life this thrust for science. I live for Us, this garden invisibility, those footprints as voiceless: our
carved aches, this plant in burgundy, our Baptists sipping grapes: that space
in mother, this maverick soul, our years to wrestling bipolar parallels: that
secret cult, this fear in brains, if but adventures his ultimate potential—that
crying shame, this man shredded, our blenders laughing: for death is gravity,
this inching towards graves, this palm as daughters evoke sensories: that
cutting light, this mystic abandonment, this eclipse studying its worshipers:
as cavelike grasshoppers, of locusts to harvests, as devoured this sentient
overseer: that trenchant psych, those trenchant observations, this trenchant
wall-grip. I burn teak, as ticking her
guts, fueled for rapacious seeking repentance: that wild soul, those wild
dominions, our grannies at death to return with kisses: that pasta with cheese,
that fair white wine, our thoughts drifting upon tournaments—or crying sermons,
or rabid testimonies, while deciphering those differences betwixt humans: as
animals forgiving, or wasps relenting, or daughters at love pleading this
essence: our nights to romance, as seated in loneness, to thwart with life those
subtle infusions: our mail to Christ, our hearts to deaths, this yogi as built
to sustain perceptions: if thought to exist, as thoughts to exits, at barbeques
our pork chops with hickory.
