Prehistoric Brains

We’re at love, racing through discomforts, at teary souls activated: this wrestling for silence, that Japanese interior, such as thunder our yoga origins: this hallowed moon, this decrepit signpost, our days at crippling hatred: to see his face, captured by masks, this shiftless chameleon: our weeping leafs, as disconnected, at our windy burdens: those raking gardeners, our mental agriculture, this swan pruning dispositions.  I ponder, Brimhall—aflame at treasures, peering into velvet sulfur—those raging highlights, this debate concerning religion, at tales designed to initiate: our swanic laughter, our answers spewing abstracts, at concrete presumptions: as mother retreats, while eating her liver, our caiman genetics: wherefore, this steep aggression, whereto, this woman’s souls—as transmigrated, and by grins we see ghosts, alive this hustling agony: our tethered carpets, this red rug, our trips to Hollywood: those cold engravings, those aloof billionaires, this song simmering sweetly: as kids are wild, permeated by wild ideals, a tear retracted debating concretes: that paving love, this failure to reason, this dream colored in mother’s gaze: those trying episodes, that inner saga, our workings rested in genes—as crazed laughter, to depict such essence, where a daughter mimics such joy.     (I read, Trethewey—while peeking at waves, such academic closure: as outwitting self, summonsing storytellers, sensing disconnection: such heart-brains, such core reverence, at presence such evolution: this man racing, attempting to charm gators, attempting to redeem as so to feel accepted: that curse to men, such wretched closure, as but dusky underdogs—to dine with fevers, while negotiating with thoughts, to assume such countenance at leisure losing mysticism: those dungeon islands, if but to convert love, if but to out-dream inevitability—at strata genetics, listening to grunts, poised and possessed ere photographers: that eye-catcher, those failing tales, while debating hexagrams: our casual love-sites, this wish to petals, this dreamy horizon: as tugged by currents, divorced from rhythms, ignoring but a billion larva).     We armor feelings, to love as thieves, twinkling by twilight—this ravished symphony, those ravishing kisses, this stolen electric guitar: our fathers’ debonair, our mothers’ wittiness, our grandsons’ impatience—as sentenced to red-tape, sipping grape-lemonade, searching keystone experiences—or apparitions, or fantasies driven, to want by cables something detrimental: by withered oak-brand, or tremulous fevers, at aches a writer’s enchantments: that subtle disdain, those enamored thrusts, as order merges with chaos.  It was excavated, as charmed by South Pacific, this raft permeated by hopes: this inner life-vest, afloat another Continent, peering for sinking into something foreign: such alienation, abandoned to futuristic mirages, at hells to release this agonizing crocodile: that losing bounce, that arriving heaviness, this sickly, internal debate: at ironic lies, or captivating seconds, running from luminous jellyfish: that fatal poison, that woman’s heartbeat, our chases through wilderness—to shift with delightful cries, this search as restricted, our faces denouncing our war-swords.