I Met Strength

…at terrible breaths, at intimate resonance, at cadence bent towards destruction: this mental compartment, this flushed redness, this avatar heart: our army souls, this flippant disease, our gravel as tasting sweet: this surf to captures, this desert bleeding, this soil fraught by human sediments: where autumn dies, at summery valleys, this woman too cold to exist: our broken ferns, this cactus intellect, such as frost this furnace by rivers: our lotus tomorrows, as reaching infinity, while tugged for rapture’d screaming at billboards.  I fiddle nails, this metaphoric existence, this ache to sanity ruptured with acmes: that fragment wishing, this action as suitable, our illusions gripping segments by reality: that invincible woman, our unstoppable dramas, this mid-shift breakdown: as laughs a vandal, if but to love self, our genetics piercing as plunging ribs: that inner oracle, grieving with Zacharias, this lieutenant owl-dream—this man running, as reaching omegas, while forced for demonized peering at rosary daughters: this trickling blood, this thirsting potion, this airborne axis—where Love was present, fumbling as considered, where perfect sex is but an adventure: this permanent disease, this life as laughing, our Easter Resurrection: as men bleeding, or women constructing, or apes seated at tables: this room to sacrifice, this caiman agenda, this winded grasshopper—as selected for kingship, or waxing with resilience, afforded one trestle by disdain.     (I address swans, at terrors this rehearsal, at key-tombs breaking with silence): this lot of offices, this room to tales, this package deciphering through options: that naked man, that babbling woman, this offense to perfect souls: as cries a flame, our eyes to psychs, our brains to genocides: this reckless comet, this inner Neptune, this captive Venus: hither-with, this blanket skit, this skittish kitten, this rabid puppy: our spirits whisking, this heart to thumps, our voices smothered as islands afar: those middle-seas, this oasis-ocean, this psychological evaluation: as sipping crazily, or amazed by reactions, to film appraisals while ruining ambitions: this inherited cricket, this morning’s cadence, this breath as captured by one curse: that offcolored comment, this loss forever, as good this exchange of fleetingness: this damp eclipse, this epoch nightmare, our histories forbidden and silent: as grottoes demented, this inner lake, this praise afforded to weaknesses.  I sought our fount, this cryptic swan, this other’s industry: our heart-pianos, our firebrand guitars, our blasé resistance: that woman at lands, this man to clouds, this berry to gin: as loving life, while committed to hospitals, where friends churn to escape [the] plebian: such by gray iron, this endless barrel, this breeding barracuda: our days as flayed, our steaks as bloody, our bake-potato as steaming with cranberries: this man to sands, this casket to applauses, our psychs offended by responses: but hell to perfection, or suffering by silence, or kissing for puckering while stranded at gates: our pastel daughters, our see-through exospheres, our pear-pearls: as tea-plum-greens, or Persian roses, gnawing upon raspberry topaz: this turquoise scream, this vision as fruitless, this perfect person running from closets: our mother’s wit, our father’s dedication, our professors by years our graves as reciting—those fervent truths, this mythic magic, those sapphire maroons—those cagey eyes, this delicate shade, our pictures as bleeding our crooked confessions: this inner taupe, this blackmail haven, this knowing while seeing exits: our sunflower daffodils, our apricot aqua(s), this ivory jasmine: where daughters ascend, at permanent stations, our loins heavy with sacrifice: this father [one tear], this mother [his handkerchief], our dreams splattered upon raw earth: this cursed resurrection, this man to pliers, this skipping as falling to partnerships: our brooding grandparents, our jungle lemonade, this magenta whiplash: as genetics with limbs, or guts with feathers, our captures spewing gas-flames: to run forever, as escaping nothing, at flavescent miracles.  

Lancôm, Paris

…this allure model, this bold allergy, this restricted body: this course screaming, this bleeding reverie, this sobering aerobatic: our loins exploring, this seed emerging, this mother losing peg-wars: our streaming excitement, this piercing by souls, those erotic earrings: this atypical bondage, this interior essence, our skin as immortal opium.  I feel Black Swan, quasi-interrogated by Love, this furious feud: our black enterprise, this white lavender, our exotic cries: as Dior madness, this irrational kiss, as but a second to irrational eye-glares: this mortal fool, this slender image, those provocative built(s): to love as dying, to sing architecture, as afloat pinning this swanic valley: this picture freckling brains, this immortalized seduction, and this tale for souls during escorted imaginings: that reveled blade, this saw at sea-glands, this border-line catastrophe: our souls beaded, our lights as toe-prints, this green turtle speaking Chinese: if but to live, as mahogany beaut(s), if but to cleave as resisting deaths: those Maybelline eyes, this L’Oreal face, this maze as distorting customary lines: those fatal extracts, this smelted village, that one beautiful personae: as Super-Stay gels, or immortalized conditioners, this subtle scent disrupting held pledges: our midnight Africa, this gracile Belizean, our European genetics: this split with reality, this middle existence, this war upon fantasies: as naked masterpieces, this shuttering thrill, if but to exchange fluids: our magnet arcs, this feral charm, our nakedness beyond boundaries: to love as livid, or die as rescued, our Olay skin-tones.  I could retreat, but what for essence, this passion bleeding its innocence: this bottle of nitrogen, this external sherm-leaf, this reveled soul: to cut with silence, to love as crooked, where Simone would forsake existence: if but to breathe, this kef called life, this glow as orgasmic insistence: our mothers jealous, our fathers praising, our souls feeling inadequate: those porcelain teeth, that furrow exploding, that argumentative lecture—where souls smile, as informed with travesties, to cut with silence: our three-step solutions, this predisposition, this fiction concerning white flesh: our usual experience, our common elevators, our cookies with crème: as souls running, this woman with cancer, this elegant sea-crest: our octopus arms, this barracuda grin, this magnet as infested with deaths: to live allure model, this complicated existence, this bottle of Dom Pėrignon: this immortal breath, as infused with effusions, at thrust with sheer murderism—our Garnier mane, this Hispanic vixen, this Latin inheritance—as men dying, if but for elegance, if but to extract this inner animalism: this Aniston tear, this Jolie nightmare, this Beyoncè pride: our boats sailing, this raft adjacent, this canyon inflamed with wings: for what by worth, this driven Smith, this Brimhall nun, [this inner Trethewey]: as psychs thresh awareness, or therapists become reflections, or overseers push through our eyes: this inward hydration, this velvet sky-panic, our dreams convoluted: where women dwell, those exciting creatures, our German mermaids: as embedded tears, or synthetic aloofness, or random emails: this virus to souls, this demented vixen, this friend at times catering wars: to love as lost, to retreat as entering, to fill as framing emptiness: this paid internship, this stipend majesty, this background music.  It’s quite evasive; It’s quite to points; It’s miracle dynamite: this thunder discomfort, this woman to dreams, this connection as communion: this strong communication, this liturgy worship, this model bleeding for normality: that constant attraction, as purely external, this Biorè catastrophe: as nightmares on Elm Street, or tragedies at night-sessions, or memories sheering convictions at three a.m.: our water with sugar, our ice with syrup, our Marc Jacobs: as daisy intercoms, or lazy evaluations, this Princess diamond: as reframed with hostilities, or cultured by mis-identifications, this backpack resisting internal forces: this Asian apple, this pineapple cone, this feeling as if one has lost existence: but hells to failures, as eyes to apes, while genetically beyond this magnitude by riches!

Under Your Voice

We’re prehistoric, this daughter’s screams, our blankets fiddled in dung-bars: this iron masterpiece, this welkin centerpiece, this chief of disasters: our casual heartsores, our drumbeat Asians, this man more to her than I.  I laugh with sorrow; I dwell melancholic; I arrive as settled in tempest joys: this miracle soul, thrusting his agonies, cleaving for lost but faithful: our scattered attics, this garret of ambition, this Brutus Enterprise: to die as wicked, or wicked unto holiness, this granny pleading her son: our cavy sensations, this picture by Essence, our musicalities—as scheduled for deaths, to reschedule graves, this divine clock starring at grand-lands: if but to cherish, this achy reality, our days fraught with lusts.  I sought with vengeance, as unsteady an adversary, while courting academics: this inner brochure, this rosy manicure, this steady anxiety: to sense this face, as embedded in memory-glands, our arteries filled with infatuation: to perish lovingly, while guided with theater, this nation flaunting, Improv: our leopards to anguish, our eyes to greetings, this peace in sanity as losing its boundaries: as exospheric, or generic genetics, whishing upon a floating leaf.  (I require an opus, this dream escorting love, this swift reminder of psychoses: as men frigged, or woman exotic, at turns to imagine long-wilderness: this width by angst, this city of betrayals, our musing mulct’d of insanities: this rare pleasure, this immortal Friend, of more worth than reality: that held palm, those immortal cries, this off-keyed sincerity: our A’s as Y’s, our tails as heads, our brains as plural: with such force, as to ask this legacy, if but to exchange a life of comforts: this foolish man, this genetic rivalry, our intellect dependent upon agitations).  I’m primate richness, at lands this procedure, at terrors our days as short: to ruin for eternity, while reaching for roulette, to possess such ecstatic excitement: our jimbre dying, our souls revealing, as portraits fall up beyond skies: this man to dreams, this woman to logic, as two emerge scribbling masterpieces: indeed, with tales, indeed, with passions, at truths, forsaken to destructions: our violent arguments, this place for psychs, our hours rekindled as swooshed for emotions: that frantic castle, this deep invasion, our cities under-siege: to amplify deaths, this eye-eye profanity, this scientific meadow: to recite her story, or to know her brains, this leniency afforded our betrayals: to cut with controlling, while controlling, nonetheless, where a person becomes silent aggravation: this bleeding insanity, this Christic insanity, as such organic insanity—as dialogues drifting, or Catholics shifting, or tears to drums invading our earlobes: that inner nutshell, this remarkable sex-life, our mornings to rejuvenation—to greet with silence, this salacious exchange, while doubting with clarities: this trick by minds, this inner compass, our whales created through insecurities: to have such knowledge, while falling steeper, our boulders crafted by mental-glasses.  I speak to Us, as mere our fortunes, a smidgen too present during waking moments: that excitement lost, that feeling of old, our spontaneity splattered afar—as yearning directions, while too cautious to sing, our sheer shock at living karaoke: this jealous frenzy, this silver-back gaze, those ruminating eyes: as fretted psychology, or breaded archeology, feeling a bit too poly-amorous: wherefore, we sink into proprieties, we recite our mother’s words, we wander as internal slavery: this iguana leisure, this tank of snakes, this fiasco of solitary: or more to resistance, fleeing for fled, at passions upon mind-grass: this shift in perception, this candle as membranes, our neurotransmitters playing Monopoly.                      

It’s been years, this untold venture, this cryptic chaos—as leading into days, this absence of force, this courage to about-face: our treasured homes, this treasured if-ness, our remorseful whatness—as fleeing wrongness, by those explored, where guideposts signal that fatal entrance.   

Genetic Memories

I have dreams, rising in genetic screams, as pinched forbidding entrance: this chaotic spell, this internal jail, this removable wall: as falling frenzies, abated by beauty, enchanted by riches: this space in souls, this electric wire, this immortal dejection: as men living, or women afloat, coaxed for ruined this mothering calamity: our office aches, this churn in souls, this essence bleeding chameleons: to harmonize lights, while disgruntle dearly, this reason to act with purpose: this strange face, this moody lightning, this hungry appetite: our Aristotle’s, our Wolfing manias, this Hughes’ catastrophe: as living by tenets, or goddess principles, a sylph at a man’s intestines: that curious flight, this doctoral reality, our disavowed theses.  I have visions, beyond supernal, rising in shoebill synaptic(s): this angry aesthetic, this incandescent mystic, this Hindu manuscript—that table leaking, those tomes laughing, this soul rebuilt upon nonsense: or torn adolescence, to break with excitements, while ruined for perfect by age twenty-two: our cavy angst, this war with science, this page defeating our endeavors: as Greene informs, where Plato becomes immortal, or anxious this philosophic disease: where flights are distinct, this alley with roses, this sewer those oaken leaves—those red blades, this mahogany wilderness, our immortalized deserts: this place at souls, that melodic Rihanna—our redeemed Aretha’s.  It’s lined to laugh, reflecting through orphans, at wars concerning such plight: this mother and father, this battle for brains, this sharing as losing identities: those beige algae, those mental larvae, this cocoon bathed in caterpillars: those flapping wings, that moist body, this flipping as deranged sensing genetics: our playful pups, those sorrowful eyes, that reckless excitement: to sense with passions, this robust intellect, this envious ferret.  I have dreams, this prophetic aero, this penchant for acrobatics: this flimsy address, this marvelous minx, this remarkable secretary: our days to madness, our walks to oases, this curious squirrel demanding strawberries.  We wing to fly, as afloat a thousand screams, reading into Adele: this magnetic essence, this sad overview, this intrepid reception: our strategies waning, our resentments high, peering at what we can’t receive: this heart of bull-ants, this aging caiman, our dreams coming by decades: that touch of self, as lost to mysticism, our intestines sprouting mayflies: that Buddhist image, those swamps by beauties, that reluctant crocodile: if but our palms, to grip our lights, to re-manufacture our childhood dreams: that squirming tadpole, that leaping frog, those heights as screams demanding human-hood: if but our arms, reaching our beliefs, while confused by actions vs. thoughts: this internal paradox, this term by forces, our mentors too esteemed to mimic.  (I have visions, this land by immortals, our tales to infants: this legacy dancing, this animal with grit, our days to polishing independent brains: our daughters laughing, as struck a bone, as funny becomes morbid: this growing affliction, as maturing with fruit, where something loses its appeal: but touches to beauty, those Rembrandt portraits, or Raphael’s malady: this artistic element, this painting dilemma, our aches searching for immortalized classrooms: that Buddhist professor, or that Catholic lecturer, or those Christian Baptists: where thoughts are squeamish, as actions impure, while secrets leak into University wars: our dreams screaming, our genetics bleeding, as needing this position given to God: our lax’d mornings, our vigorous afternoons, our intellectual nights: by passions to souls, or Sufis to brains, reading into apostolic experiences): that skating vocal, those rafting membranes, our neuronic laughter: this swan to skies, this drift through tides, this swoosh as awakening to dreams: our local heart-scrapes, this underground brook, our song as distressed seeking its freedom: where dolphins play, while whales glide, if but a thought to hearts!        

Silence

…because it chirps, this incandescent rain, this permanent feature: at remnants baptized, at cultures by closed eyes, at remorse by something inconsequential: that moving attitude, those slight remarks, this inverted countenance: our brains war-locking, our wiccan tendencies, our daughters but one slice of reality: this choice meal, this rebel attic, this jasper banshee: as consecrated, pledged by allegiance, our American Psychiatry held high: those rubric souls, those rubric cries, this impermanent decision: as mother to rulers, or father to wholeness, where minds mimic animals: that dark light, this limbo status, our ghettoes by paining palms: whereto, this keyboard, this mental piano, this leprechaun’s abrasions: as abracadabra, this feline pacing, our roots slimy with intentions: therewith, this torn algebra, this spirit-geometry, this inner melt-light.  (I wrestle by concerns, tiptoeing agitation, appalled by needing this glimpse: those magnet hearses, those mystic knells, this invisible silence: our screaming psychologists, our resilient psychopaths, this woman watching while harboring sheer hatred: our lukewarm existence, or fervent dyes, at ponds flogging this outward human: as terrible habits, to subdue existence, while engulfed by troubling principles: this man laughing, as searching for father, if but our mothers by intimate designs: this perfect creature, as never by rebukes, where seekers are permitted to ruin existence: or life pining, undressed by pains, reaching by physicality a lonely night: herein, this gassy fume, this room by textures, this ceiling snapping life-portraits: as souls gunning, abrasive with agonies, while longing as tortured this unbelievable ‘normality’—as rigid curses, this gourmet soup, feeling for rubrics this partial consensus: as looks alike, this feral capture, our days to exonerating sociopaths). 

I lit a clove, spinning by attractions, as multiplied by resistance: this inner freelance, this inner  dreamscape, our imaginations promising electricity: that fragile warrior, that stern suffering, this music alighting from heaven: those wasted years, this want with humans, our minds at terrific pedestals: as if to differences, this salacious grievance, this spectacular essence, [those centuries to perfecting womanhood]: as pruning roses, or plucking figs, whereby, this art consisting of incessant waxing: those brown eyes, if but by loyalty, as pledged to infinity: where days are lethal, while churns are desperate, insofar, as clouds depict this immortal caricature: our jasmine tulips, this cheetah empire, our top-speeds reaching about a thousand kilometers per minute: this inner plea, if only injection, if only supernatural joys: that small request, this island slipping, our volcanoes becoming rafts: as change comes, or women cry, where men feel such relations: our dry responses, where arts drain emotions, thereto, those eyes, as whet with this hidden venture: that inner person, this creeping arc, those years to wanting something damaged: that liquid wine, those liquid veins, this purpose as accumulating debts.  I reminisce, if only too naïve, sensing a woman as deaths would die: our friends laughing, while pursuing life, as going too by rivers: this delicate monster, this rope tugging, this calm as insidious: our blackened moons, our greenish suns, this illogical assertion: where Love would tillage, those neuronic threshing(s), if but so intimate as to want for exists: that long egress, that chasing ingress, this back to silence as dying captures: our fathers coaching, our mothers at memories, this valley of impetuous activities: where Love is laughing, as if to ruin, this light that remains by pillars of space: those endless vows, accursed for ruined, while yanking for shredding immortal cloth: this alley in-right-out, this essence as out-wrong-in, where Love was quite beautiful! 

Interlude Seesaw

We analyze life, aborted to madness, studied by genetics: this trapdoor, those psychotic prints, at life-spans feeling oblivious: those tentacle songs, this island of fluff ails, that season of deep resistance: this musical force, this reckless charm, our treacherous compassions: if but with silence, analyzing love, at churns feeling unstable: for love consumes, while souls perish, this fit in fairness adorning this roadmap: as brains merge, this steep recognition, this city of idiosyncrasies—those slimy snails, this telic butterfly, our analogies depicted in metaphors.  I skate blueprints, sliced within, at variances with sodium: or that captive feeling, entrenched in guts, a tear to orange-skies [this melic life, those melic keys, this tragic resume]: or more this surfing, pictured as complete, with monsters beneath our contours.  (…years have passed us, our women starting families, our men at softball: this batting frenzy, this love for Lucy, or our Americanized Comforters: our jasper sun, our horizon moon, this travesty with sitting stillness: our recapped romance, that box of crystals, our bubbles with champagne—if but to exist, this formal passion, this informal legacy: adrift a dozen stars, arriving upon Neptune, seized by islands upon Venus).  We analyze life, our eye-eye mentors, this disposition for hoping: those gray signposts, that symbol of violence, those roundabout impressions: as brains jog or joust about silence, or jest with fences: as turquoise feelings, or remorseful gestures, or more, this ability to feel comfortable: those meadows bluish, that forest purple, this compassion yellow—as wheels spinning, our Ezekiel genetics, our ponds rinsing hopelessness.  I feel but washed, this cycle above delicates, this inner web of chandeliers: our harsh goodbyes, as once so fervent, where I realized this will as studied: [that is to say], this ability for kindness, while one is worthy of such kindness: or this outer guitar, fretted by life, depicted in myriad unknowingness: that humble man, trained by scorpions, our fishes evolving stingers: as wrestled souls, or simile minds, or introduced madness.  (It was love tugging, as agreed our hearts, our wars against inclinations: or this courage-force, admitted as interior, a bit terrified to lose).                      

              

Nocturne Silence

I fiddle a quarter, our women’s admiration, those unfamiliar responses: this black lagoon, this Nigerian soul, this achy Witness: as men die, as women live, as both mourn our cradles: that violent undercurrent, that silent undergrowth, this Cinemax movie: those antique screens, this musical settee, this decrepit guarantee: as leopards cry, as souls fuse, as sockets reject—this mortal bird, this song-note fly, those syllables erasing symbols: our winter’s blockage, this faux pas, those miracle eyes.  I fiddle a quarter, tugging cigars, a tear concerned about lungs: at eighty percent vision, while twenty lingers, this chase for immortality: such asperity, such glistening promise, as dying to live agonies: this soul bleeding, this daughter confused, this precious memory: as partly human, those torn effects, this façade by disciplines: as Apostolic, or corporate Baptists, or this event turbid with darkness: this Whole adventure, that remarkable culture, or our suicidal mothers: as lives a dynasty, scraping feathers, while washing tar: those faces screaming, this son fiddling, our brains to seconds as feeling secure: that wellic moon, those roaring shadows, this trekking closet: our mental scales, our inveterate Jews, this man at deaths laughing insanely: as motors lost, or forceful voiceprints, this Lady to gin with tonic: or toenail needles, or squiggly lines, or effervescent pills: to die this life, as never by judgment, at tournaments chasing his last alibis: this faceless woman, this pictureless winning, those invisible addicts—as wiggles a worm, at oblivious churns, those common pigeons speaking fire—to cut with curses, while divorced from existence, this mere man as immortal by solitary thoughts: that deep delusion, our muddy ashes, our noses dripping mucus.  I fiddle a quarter, sipping russet wines, nibbling ambition: this dead flower, that male with child, this enormous caiman—those shivering verses, this tremulous voice—where love is anguish, as love is ruling, while love becomes sheer imagination: that exterior rib, this interior connection, our therapeutic cigars: to venture as unsung, scribbled as non-receptive, accursed for ruined: that steep consensus, our American Europe, while ghetto children have been stifled: those ecumenical spikes, this remarkable chasm, where children are taught to listen: as midnight faces, or benighted charms, liquid at roots needing cement.  Its terrible makeup, or enamored frustration, attempting by reach those intangible skies: that inner roadrunner, those hyena genetics, this intellectual barracuda: that sworn intuition, those shimmering eels, this synaptic reef shark—as running into vestibules, shaved by rooms, at closures a horrible human: or more at touch, this ascetic monster, a bit too gentle for humanity: our sutra verses, our huts in Tibet, our under-courage adventures: this luminous society, those miraculous models, this mystic illusion—as intrusive chaos, or more as written, as coming to realize this elusive war: our contrite hearts, our monsters shifting, our souls born to alcoholics and addicts: this ignored reality, while shaped by riches, our interiors dying with delusions: that perfect countenance, that rabid truffle, this mental carnival: as cut with silence, or thrust through by spears, this game at souls jousting for images: if but admiration, than more our insistence, while dying those ghetto closets.  I fiddle a quarter, while sipping marooned, this raft punctured by shames: this musical vice, this musical charm, our musical travesties: our quivering agonies, this dervish city, our Palestinian women: or Persian cries, while seated at kef, our Rumi Empires: at arts flying, at keynotes destroyed, while to function existence: our decreased zeal, our increased cynicism, our minds without warning becoming quite skeptical: this band upon life, this ceiling breaking, this sky falling—whereto, this mythical creature, imbued with characters, a fire knitted his brains!               

Sweet Ambrosia: Sought as Scientific

I scream about, Naylah, this inner resonance, this killing soul-ache: our breaths, as mere humans, alive a thousand divinities: those glossy eyes, this fever in men, our abilities to behave nonchalantly: this woman’s husband, her infant swan, or this marvelous leviathan: that caged sensation, this need for comforts, those incandescent tulips: our gorilla instincts, our morning Exercises, this Gertrude flaming within this immortal swan: to cave with silence, to otter our souls, where bearlike travesties accuse of bestiality.  I love a Being, dripping through traumas, at wars our childhood mothers: this gate to minds, this gait to passions, this slight churn residing in keen observation: those psychology palms, that psychiatric membrane, those educational gaps: our chainsaws, our cedarchests, this original symphony—as losing perspective, cut for slain, at tears to enter due to complications: that island tripod, those bubbling feelings, this man so lame as sensing love.  (…at five with sugarcane, or ten with sherm leafs, floating as adrift this perfect horizon: those blatant mind-chills, those seconds by fertility, those moments of hibernation: as genetic scoundrels, pleading consensus, if by worth to cherish our names: our silky waterfalls, our frozen emotions, out thermostats as autumn brains: […our beloved, Naylah, this incredible sinner, this inner desert-tree: where Father voiceprints, or steps into roses, with curious concerns those naked dahlias]: our Pacific sun, our moonlit gazes, this mental wall: where souls forage, or frolic freely, at feelings dying by resurrection).  I admire, Naylah, this woman so afar, while seated a heart-skip northbound: this swan laughing, at intricate developments, by seasons trading in her cameras: those rebuilt engines, that antic transmission, those mantis eyes: as churning realities, while born for redemption, at turns, pleading sacrifice: those voodoo tales, this swimming cactus, that chameleon incentive: where arts are bleeding, this bone by gristle, those thought-particles and litter.  I watch, Naylah, if but by brains, kicking for trampling splinters—this archeologist, tugging at cultures, arrested by investigations: that inner scientific, that outer spiritualist, those dreams as confused: insofar, our distant bridges, this leaping concrete, our gummy attics: if but by terrors, to die so freely, this reckless force so buoyant: those cagey aggressions, this softness at random, our scalps itching by silence: as terrible souls, laughing at terribleness, but confined to this purgatorial prison: those mahogany calves, those nylon thighs, those mothlike intrusions—whereas, I need conviction, if but by Naylah, if but by resonance: this future inverted, our mirage born kisses, this fish speaking in Swahili: our Nigerian blood, or African pride, our Ethiopian brides—where primates gather, filled with phobias, communicating with caimans: those alligator eyes, that crocodile zeal, this dinosaur lineage: as men chasing, our women running, to claim with vigor this definite agony: our spinning daughters, our allergic mothers, our empirical soulprints.  I magic with, Naylah, this cave as sensing, this motive as communion: our stippled dreams, our acrylic visions, our windy bedrooms—at orangutan courage, our siblings dancing, our stepmothers volcanic: to tell Naylah’s story, or Beyoncè’s inheritance, nibbling invisible earlobes: this shift in reality, this coming into existence, our existential pragmatism: indeed, a farce, or more this curse, while peering into actual properties: that amorous soul, those amorous glances, as reaching for something that disappeared: those sakata prose, those storyline poems, this welkin sestina—while accursed for living, at charities waltzing, at life by sheer trepidation: those goosy wings, this goosy soul, those nutty eyes: if but to sing, our sons as kings, by drama our aches fleeing into concerns: those chimpanzees, our apish soul-ties, our bonobos steep by concentration.         

Big Picture: They Minister to Our Infirmities

I passed a page, feeling plagiarized, affected in self this morbid shift: those daydreams clashing, this world of fantasies, this field borne to realities: this shaky essence, to garlic those eyes, at honey because we need ministry: this agile creature, this frolicking genus, our tremulous admiration: this pretzel cadence, those racing dimensions, this minister attending to sexual complications: those rabid cries, this speedish sensation, our pastors our mates: this incredible weakness, this incredible person, those remarkable eyelashes: this arm reaching, this beast preaching, our a.m. chirpings: those gazelle limbs, this arch bleeding, these familiar ghosts: to beg fidelities, or plead insouciance, at wonders about this internal chain-ink:  those swimming antelopes, our impala genetics, our leopard appetites: that cinema movie, this ache in bones, this ecstasy to witness compassion: as men leaping, our tattooed flesh, this elusive guillotine: those puma jars, those tawny-brown abrasions, this life stippled upon synaptic gaps: therewith, our souls, ministering in return, this churchlike-life-retreat: our grazing deers, our herbivores, our abated intensities: as owls churning, or bats teething, or that sightly hedgehog.     This relished sadness, this crawling soul, our side-bed urine: as age creeping, our palms held, our mothers and fathers as ministers: our eco-tigers, that guinea feeling, this poem by Blake—or life to episodes, that warthog chase, those effaced emotions: our mutual combat, our renegotiations, this race by love: that scorpion fever, that desert chase, this arid atmosphere: to love as friends, to retreat as lovers, to chisel time with images: that rising house, our shrimp with rice, our attics stuffed with memorabilia: those prime-evil-hunters, this inescapable need, while ministers are chasing dreams: that casual island, this inner den-party, that torrent manuscript: our mental editors, this raging agenda, as needing by closeness: that empty couch, that talkative settee, those faithful pillows: those six-to-twelve eyes, this winter roadrunner, our television rattlesnakes: our giraffe wits, this kangaroo intuition, this battle to lay claim to our ministers.     I felt by monsters, this incorrigible ache, this unrevealed footprint: our retina-centimeters, our approach to existence, this intuitive rhinoceros—as sleeping with chimes, our doors by mirrors, or those manipulative mentors: hereto, this silent retrieval, this silent face, this unphysical resentment: as needing in moments, this faraway Africa, or this nearby Europe: or apophatic wisdom, or cataphatic love, while chasing as losing this inner wilderness: as Hildegard Saints, or acrid creatures, living for arising so close to mystikos: this raging ocean, those secular instincts, this battle resisting its native insistence: as tailored manicures, or desert pedicures, while fiddling for gripping our ministers: those deep sandcastles, our potty-training awry, our souls needing ministry: that healing voice, our Maybelline citadels, those neuronic draperies: as living as penguins, or colorful parakeets, while parachuting through resistance: this inner meadow, those flowing lights, or that life of celibacy.     We utter, Love, residing in our minister, aware by infirmities: as inner deposits, those echoing futures, this tale told while seduced: our brandished heartbeats, our random securities, our inveterate faiths: our exalted erasers, our flailed doubts, our Anne Rice musings: thitherto, a scar-zone, while vulnerable creatures, our resilience pitted in mutuality: this fretful flirt, this ingenious mind-surf, our ink to beaut(s), our jaunts to inner scales: that redeemable soul, those redeemable qualities, our quantifications: that kitchen trip, this renewed sentiment, our jousts with hierarchies: this wish to Saint Paul, this closure in John’s epistle, this wisdom hoped for in James: as hiking by deaths, at searches by nirvana, a tear to internal wars!

We love, Love, because he or she ministers to our infirmities.

Genetic Spirit Churns

…this Hindu dream, this Indian power, those wretched wishes: to tame a maniac, or gorge our blood, dripping-for-failing alive this last disaster: that Sufi goddess, our blank madness, at tropical mind-forces: this winded export, this inner glassware, our terrified fires: as men dying, those limbs reborn, this hip pushing for bruising insanity: thereto, our mistakes, our lavish eyelashes, this outer brain-core.     I saw a yogi, our liquor our debts, puffing our nicotine: or Indonesia, or lemur furs, riding for galloping those spurs: to laugh our lungs, peering at derriere, gripping insanity this wild native mare: as dolphin cries, or dolphin eyes, that bar that tavern our nights to blood—if but to cherish, as remote this island, nibbling for tasting an achy neck: this caiman gin, this caiman pen, our turbid lakes seething with vengeance.     I macro life, at micro-pains, or lavish for misery our screams: those perfect webs, this nest of diamonds, those breasts we die at birth: this curse chasing, our women groaning, our panties directing earnest—this mythic music, our allegorical(s), this anaconda strep for body tears: those teeming ponds, this lady-tadpole, if but by fairytale to exclaim this sexual map-war.     (We shift gears, such bio-chemistry, this Zen Buddhist: to die with aches, as lives a scoundrel, attempting to mate this dynasty: our blank woes, our teddy-bear cries, this shoebill becoming emotional: that Chanel face, those Neutrogena screams, this birth as cut afforded a dozen psychs: that glossy room, those shorn appetites, this inner psychologist: where mother whines, if not for laughs, while so cruel a ghoul leaps: thitherto, our adorable freckles, our remorseful panties, our nights to redeeming that first enchantment: those torrid years, this torrid jeer, our fears in bottles those city puddles: if but to exhaust, at feelings by rawness, this century to removing our scars: those ankle-high jeans, this mind to fantasies, this woman smiling: our men laughing, our women serious, this inner certitude ravished by silence—as born to genetics, this intellectual sponge, this territorial gauge: as, thither, cursed, this denim jacket, that gentle stomach: as kissed at corners, while laughing liquor, this drip into insanity: where father chances, as rapt’d in ecstasies, this place in our purgatorial apparitions: as women in suits, or Muslim scholars, or this Islamic minx—while ribs shatter, imploding with chaos, our fences taped with Red Cross).     I met a Mason, as torn this passion, laughing in silence looking quite serious: this Taoist goddess, this frozen bleach, this wintry cub: at tears laughing, at terror’s obligations, winking for thought I saw…this moonlit beige, this cagey attraction, this temperamental cage—where Love was genus, or captive-unborn, as more that vehicle needing but one first experience: in truths, we dream, in scars, we sing, at traumas, we dance: this flying unicorn, or that pale rose, as lives a man sickly at Love: this terrified reindeer, that explosive Diaspora, that inverted Holocaust—as sung his guts, gripping for deaths, at last-laughs aborted to prisons.     We survived deaths, at God with highlighters, our addicts this new adventure: our sober angst, our summer Love, this trip embedded in Greece: those Latin women, this Belizean mistress, this Jewish at soul-wars: our possessed friends, this overseeing dynasty, those welts to brains as standing in stillness: that mental hospice, this meter of seabirds, our bipolar museums: where men fall, as women rise, but such is Love to grasp our wrists: that mythical woman, this womb to sights, this agony to lights: our fluorescent passions, this arctic fox, as becoming so humble: our Thich Nat Hahn’s, our trembling Sunshine, this hospitable red hart: at bridges leaping, at dreams suspended, at Swarovski crumbling: those jasmine thighs, that auburn mane, that invasive glitter! 

Old Immortal

We desire lighters, this flamboyant vessel, this kiss as dementia; but not to graves, as enslaved by trauma, but more, this psychotic freedom: our welts, our wishes, our welding(s): if but to fly, this daughter’s reality, accursed for possessed living inwardly: this high horizon, that auroras sun-candy, those griffin wings: as laughs a swan, so steep to cherish, as alive picturing insanities: those bold cries, that therapeutic lance, this cut dripping its substance: that philosophic, this glass of cognac, this granny at love this forbade’d soul: our precious islands, as refusing pleasures, at pride infused with discomforts: that mountain, Moses, that Egyptian, Aaron, our notions as out-casted tyrants: this feminist vision, our slates wiped clearly, our dreams recurring through stressors: this theologic, this inner resentment, those pages as panties where Love rebuked—that feral man, as enlove with travesties, to presume this mental character: our salad brains, our liver hearts, or more this creative ladybug: as dying with vengeance, or living with cadence, to presume something unclear: that welkin ballet, those welkin alarms, this sophisticated and well-groomed adversary: where mother laughs, to witness insecurities, at once, to ignite an ethnic torch.  I became warnings, as flushed with attraction, to sense something cringing: this immortal genetic, those neuronic mazes, this push as rebuilt through, Love: our caviar nights, our weeds with intensions, this biblic ritual: those pictures whining, as to induce remembrance, where Love is aching this shorn escape: our Irish liquor, our Danish designs, this Australian catalogue—where father lives, this inner purgatorial, our minds cramping with investigations: that vague goodbye, our daughter’s wintery eyes, our mothers cleaving to their future seeds: that conversation, this psychic revelation, our tyranny for clarities screaming at our witnesses: if but to exhaust, this inner mute, our twilight-arms reaching for tribunals: our ambiguity, this Immortal Father, at crosses pollinating this Immortal Mother: as shivering Indians, our lands to crucifixions, our colonies colonized: this burden of beasts, this chief of perfections, about as wretched as living that native abandonment: (that is to say), this dejected creature, as far too fabulous, our beasts at Love with sheer ingratiation.  It comes with passion, our stringed instruments, where keen observation condemns a nation of violence: hitherto, this guilty gut, our daughter’s magic, those grandparents wishing for solutions: to see this soul, as aloof to converse, while pleading for Father’s tribunal: our achy bones, our lifting by weights, as accustomed to swearing: our yonic women, as those parentheses, depicting total pandemonium—where men drift, our kittens purring, as it felt by life those seconds at, Love. 

I reappear, an unsung hero, but a lambent fool: this woman as crossed, this tale as lost, our ability to regroup: those garden flakes, this flinging mind, our energies bundled for that terrific out-thrash: our curses as cures, this azotic flagon, abreast alongside this kef: that marvelous woman, as sinning her marvelous soul, to come at nights pleading survival: hereto, this mercy given, this wretchedness frying, this moon bleeding—as men shiver, where daughters uplift, at girths listening to this planetarium: if gusts would speak, as hearts would flutter, this powerful soul acquainted with chaos: that difficult feat, at life with purpose, to glean a bit of knowledge from losers: this place he dwells, those immortal vibes, this spiderlike fire of volt-paws: to exist as living, or to exist as dying, where friction exists claiming as monumental—this voiceprint of flames, this twain excitement, our years to immortal spectrums: that sin-sun vice, this relished sacrifice, our women ripped asunder.                                         

They give life, our confusing mothers, if bled too much would die.  

Darker Thunders

…if life is by violence, and silence becomes temperament, than dignity is by sullenness: those teeming devises, our puckering existence, or more, our feudal resistance: those relic trolleys, those character defenses, this steamboat insistence: where ghosts haunt, those diamond pyramids, our mirrors raking perceptions.  I discovered sadness, as a hopeful youngling, listening to Oldies—or tears this gut-phone, reckoned as analytical, our Sunday night rice with liver: indeed, by gravy, as more, by hot-sauce, that silent adventure: as cursed sinews, or rabid motivation, while finding laughter in ghettoes.  Our metaphors, our brazen courage, as adrift mainly without notice: introduced to goblins, estranged to normalities, at sodium with vengeance: that cistern by chaos, that intrusion comes harshly, around five peeling our training-wheels. 

We grade souls, We ward-off termites, We cleave to joy-bringers: this parachute extravaganza, those extra-ordinary spirits, those exponential smiles: while torn by heartbeats, threshed with swords, sipping upon existence: that fulgent creature, as bane becomes instruction, our curves this intricate experience: our turbid ponds, our instant rivals, our inner Sanskrit: our weeping splendor, our spontaneous shifts, and this immortal race: (those majestic seas, our mental motifs, as childhood exists by memories: our crucible palms, our marksmen mandolins, our morning memoirs).  We live by axioms, at seconds, whimpering, comparing life to cartoons: such nightlong fire, such early alarm, as but a soul realizes those missing pieces: as achy torches, or defenseless storms, and softly we drift our skyline. 

I’ll come to life, that mystic mystique, at seconds, forgiving traumas: if but to outsoar, those scholarly texts, where deep abrasiveness affords monsters: our likeness as similes, our similes distorting essence, our essence steeply with roots: our midnight sun, our toxics with cranberries, those unboxed ghosts: our tears with crème, our unwept agonies, or more, this insistence that we live connected lives: our turmoil weeping, our eyes resilient, those swift snares as Sibyl-born: this meeting by reflections, this porcelain goose, our pining as thoughts lurk mountains: this moving sheet, as tossed with resistance, our lonely nights puckering existence: that mental phantom, our torn perception, our pious retreats: as grieving passions, while good by consensus, peering into ethical diagrams: that radish maze, those shrubbery flames, this misfitted puzzle.           

Minds Implant Colors

It’s been seasons, this inner lucre, this beige mirage: this castled hope, this roping scream, this vision alerting passions: this man running, this island adrift, this well-walled chameleon: our Indie raptures, our Dalai Lamas, this Asian dahlia: as souls relating, those energies debating, that passive receptivity: those panda eyes, our vegan instincts, our Indian tears.  We afire hearts, our yogic membranes, this soul partial to powers: to imagine decades, flung into battles, as realizing phantoms: those diamond shells, those tinkering monsters, those extra-ordinary occurrences: that mirroring bear, those legacy paws, that frozen ocean: albeit, only meters, at which, heavy sinus pressure: wherefore, this griffin’s sun, this alighted feeling, while galloping torrent emotions.  Our love is different, that vocal mind-language, those inward spider-hearts—as losing time, fiddling this compass, alive so private at thoughts: (it begs several questions, this permanent chase, where life is evolution: those wishful horizons, while tugged so gently, as gated gladiators): this reaching Tibet, our Tibetan cheetahs, or that Tibetan fox: our shoji screens, that probing shadow, that geisha goddess: as men to sights, fumbling casually, and becoming uncovered poetry: that inner dynasty, that linguistic woman, our souls tuning pianos.  I surf a mirror, seeing visions, but prone to walk away: this heated debate, where souls are devious, while one accuses us of becoming cold: that gelid ark, those warm dejections, this space that utters, I do as I want: moreover, that curse, warring against infant instincts, where adults cage impetuous temperaments: our fresh morning mist, our awareness untarnished, albeit, our sun shines upon humanity: as sailing porcupines, or warfare monks, while nuns prepare for winter: our salmon with rice, our eggs with sausage, those pains recruiting innocence.  (…at contradictions, projections vs. agendas, our souls baptized in terrestrial genetics: or supernal neurons, or omic vibrations, or this esoteric cosmos through science: our lemonade-falls, our burnished ceilings, or more, our polished heartaches—as souls soaring, a bit cluttered by life, beginning as something casual: our mental antitheses, our rebellious songs, or that ninety year young saint): it moves through souls, it pushes at unawares, it demands silence: this inward dimension, that conscious portal, our gloomy weather: at drifts through time, fiddling a fading leaf, while analyzing a snail’s veins.  We war convenience, We dance arcadia, We sing as partial to hidden lyrics: if but our destinies, paired as meditative, our nights reaching for our last embrace: that christic influence, that sinner’s convergence, our first recital—as mental fire, or liturgy sins, our souls relishing volcanic flares: that outer countenance, our watching naysayers, this jury by peers: as men surviving, or women weaving, even our sliced genetics: those normal ponds, as void of algae, watching as suspicious of natural DNA.                                                 

Made of Plastic

We conjure dreams, effective idealisms, petting our bullying sharks: as women sailing, or men drilling, our rattling, arthritic bones: this tragedy waning, this conscience centipede, our multiple epiphanies: as livid ice-ages, or sulfur-rich hostilities, at mirrors pointing at images: that long hallway, that sky-vestibule, this dungeon so deep we feel comfortable: our pliable ribs, our shaky countenance, those mental hyenas and dingo(s): if but to panic, or relax our gaze, seated at Starbucks typing strangers: our inner weasels, our angry meerkats, this expressive cobra: as men knitted, our urine behind toilets, our women frustrated.  I love as witnessed, this barbwire’d agenda, an inveterate passion for genetics: those dark alleys, this laughing giraffe, our souls signaling our morning kef: unto silence, or deep concentration, our early centered volts: our effects waning, as beauty becomes pure aesthetics, our waxy deliberations: to argue ghosts, attending remora fish, about as wise as stingrays: this electrical feeling, this inner octopus, of fevers dining with emotions: this flexible willow, those bending bars, this fabulous centerpiece: where Love is gentle, petting a pika, seated in grassy-mud analyzing war-ants: our days to passion, our souls to islands, and those crystal-purple eyes: that diligent brain, those in-sized tentacles, and that capacity to scissor through minutia: as souls churn, as hospitals discharge, as foreign this gravel upon dementias: those felt balloons, those floating clouds, this afflatus as seeming so real: thereupon, this faith in mystery, our spiritual kisses, those shoulders shoved while minds are manic: this delicate creature, so strong this essence, by tinted sorrows. 

Inner Dialogue

I remember dementia, those scents wafting, that Arabic sun-sky.  I’d lost sanity, while pitted in sanity, therefore, this innocent experience: that kleptic voiceprint, those kleptic hearts, this passion for memories bedded within this swan: those bubbly eyes, those tiny limbs, this rich essence tented by betrayals: that mimicked realism, while featured in chaos, as granny exclaimed his signature: this instant disliking, while exonerating treacheries, where others were want to partake: that midnight moon, those porcelain stars, and a wound that nevers seals finding love: that scholar tinkering, those addicts leaping, as but this paraded carnival: our inner pains, those steep insecurities, this power with time as lethal.  I remember rooms, even seismic currents, and those fulgent inrushes: such intense hours, while Love was to stars, and banshees were to screams: this tantrum mantra, as worlds blended, that murky segue: those inner misprints, those thoughts to Venus, that hectic downcast: as purposed dreams, or scarlet scars, as losing something miscalculated: such passive beauty, such shifting music, such sudden asperity: our perfect assessments, this rich requirement, else to sandcastles afar. 

Time Redeemed

We camel through deserts, We shimmer through lights, We learn to forgive our primitive hearts: our spacial ether, our commanding instincts, this trek towards reentering society: that watching sociologist, that tribal psychologist, those literary agents: where days are crucial, upon a lithic symbol, our memoirs upon mandolins: this cryptic gaze, this inner therapist, this insistence beyond hostilities: that crucible laughing, that mental crucifix, those hopeful parachutes: where souls gather, paving cobblestones, at skyward fire-blades: that clump of soil, that tender grasshopper, this field of miraculous miracles.  

Torrent Fury

It keeps beating, through multiple deaths, as found alone our apish eyes: that kissing eagle, that shell-lost crab, our awakened dead sentenced souls: our moose grazing(s), our electric guitars, our attractions where deserts are gnats: our fur screaming, our bowels flooded, our music inverted: as casual peacocks, or sluggish porcupines, living for crossed attempting demolitions: that lethal womb, that fatal call, our seconds to kingships.  Our camera’s dialogues, this volcanic oil, this mystic daisy: our childlike amazements, this pouch weeping, our rabid kangaroos: where love laughed, as feeling excitement, our souls vexing us to tell our stories: that inner amplifier, that eardrum cello, this voice creeping into audible chains: as loves a man, aching caimans, while wrestling this shoebill psychotic: our legacy therapists, our gibbon primates, our magic-sky psychs: where mother advances, those tarsier eyes, those tiger shark fangs: as mandarin honey, or banana nutmeg, fleeing for sighted attempting escape: this wretched fleece, this inner jerboa, our cries failing upon deafened sands: this father watching, as never a lost child, unable to empathize with our black travesties: this chocolate mystic, those cellar diamonds, this floor-bed filled with red ants.  I cry as alive, I die as witnessed, and never such grief as mingling with ignorance: those purple eyes, those blackened pupils, those parent trees.  I held a frog, I captured a tadpole, I ran for coverage escaping one last dream—that inner lizard, that calling dinosaur, this inside museum: to keep alive, cut through Greece, laughing in tongues: that righteous Spanish, those African heartbeats, this Asiatic wine-keeper: that slimy mold, this inner centipede, that ruby caterpillar: as men crawling, affected for ruined, at defenses protecting our ruthless mothers: that psych easy, that psych reaching, that psych cutting: as arising in memories, this distorted picture, where a black mother appears as Jewish: our cold liquor, our banished brains, this addict feeling as reliving her son’s absence: while seated nearby, afloat a thousand spells, our arms reaching for something inverted.  We nibble fungi, laughing without voices, spacial for alert at sign language: that pink river, those clamping lights, this music chiming about distorted with tears: that intimate violence, this morning’s mother, that song disappearing with father—as mystic juice, roaring with Sia, at conflicts lusting for magic: that fallen theologian, that manic psychologist, those on-seer secretaries: our overseer madness, this kiss where all was flying, this snail as speaking Italian: our frozen concrete, our seeping women, this aesthetic rose bleeding: indeed, sawing luxuries, as blending daiquiris, while attempting to omit a daughter from tragedies: this moon deigning, this sun collapsing, as never we die as tomorrow’s wishes.  I flew a pulse, I ate a mantis, I became a shaman: this dream as livid, those thighs as crazy, this touch as aborted: that rushing sensation, those guilty instincts, our years to selecting death-wretched soulmates: our hearts threshing, this mother reaching, this therapist igniting—that cave-terror spark, those terrorizing instincts, this pleasure with retreating as afloat by falcons: if but to breathe, this thicket of feelings, our wants for essence that keeps with infinity: as dying lovers, or rekindled affairs, while at too much experience: that dreamy satellite, that inner flipper, our resurrection thoughts: as portals screaming, or women defending, while broken that curse: indeed, with silence, that mental litter, while attempting to redeem reprobate souls: as water by cactus, or elbows wailing, our thrust through life tasting nectars.          

Ink Swan

We break phobias, We break curses, We live according to drumming(s): this livid dynamite, this existential force, this pragmatic warfare: our dreams in glasses, our glasses in bottles, our luxuries purchasing bits of sanity.  I hear a swan, as casual as theft, an energized observer: this mental picture, that radiant heart-glisten, this buglike adapter: at myriad larvae, at pitted analyses, while skating this taste of infinity: our closet murals, this painted armoire, our brains to sentences as fleeing: that mug of coffee, this plate of spaghetti, our garlic bread—as seething literature, at vengeance with algebra, studying scientific truths: that inner piano, those strings to dinosaurs, this existence as providing that space for choices: at lights by candid vision, at philosophies with innocence, at traditions by marvelous radiation: that pecking pigeon, that gliding dove, those squirrels watching but rabid.  I live insistence, at thoughts by gardens, peeking for arriving lost at inquiries: those reachless plums, this metal rake, nibbling pomegranates in white khakis: our turquoise pumas, our sky-blue rugby’s, our Diesel denims: this miracle voice, as plastered upon plaques, our memories whispering during a.m. hours: as born again pilgrims, this visit through mica temples, this Mecca enchantress: as lives this turtle, harassed by this tortoise, at debates skiing through innuendoes: our smelted ontologies, our nauseating ambitions, our interior habits—at caiman gates, at genetic deliberation, at [the] blood type of existence: or mounts by ants, to watch with ink, wrapped afar but so near—as hushes an eagle, at tyrannies with falcons, swooping those vice-grip claws: this rhapsodic sibling, our joys your smiles, or more this trestle whining for comforts: that inner settee, this silent credenza, this bedroom ottoman: as fantast [the] swan, or graphic [the] mestizo, leering into nature’s advisories: to caress but feelings, our emotions as splendor, this indelible symbol.  Its music’s life, as orchestras wail, as sloths pause: or lyrics running, leaping hurdles, our ancient bibles in Latin: that pencil’s mantra, our silent Aum, this dialogue as soul-printed lutes: or ceilings evaporating, our acidic rainforest, this circuit melody by critical moments: that panting deer, those chameleon colors, this ability to adapt to both cultures: indeed, a faux-pas, for multiplicity exists, this requirement to feel comfortable with humans: as postmodern vehicles, agog by chaotic glory, this steep fascination with deconstruction: or nihilists mood-shifts, racing through philosophical islands, while nibbling gummy-worms.  I adore by foggy chorus, wrestling with deep emotions, wherefore, laughing for freedoms: that intricate being, compelled to surf, webbing a re-knitted koan: as souls fly, this gaily dance, our instructions coming through epiphanies: or structured cultures, as both would exist, our intuition re-stitching realities: as inner artifacts, or mental agriculture, this brain-flare cosmology: whereupon, this core-cosmos, this intellectual waft, our linchpins sewn into critical analyses—as mere breaths, heaving upheavals, realized about a second after realities: this driven force, that wretched curse, our lambs with red beans and rice.  I mimic insistence, as compelled a lighter-road, a bit enchanted by Taoism: albeit, knotted, singing a silent song, captured by ancient genetics: this voice we stifle, while afraid to look, indeed, at private hours lost with wonder: as pavement whispers, where bark recites, as branches form by dreams our personalities: this quilted reality, this hopeful fiction, our angels seated closely.   

Story Cave

…a palm filled with vitamins, some cocoa with coffee, and a sober outlook: this silent room, pondering a silent woman, at our fantasy that love is easy: upon wooden floors, this invasive grasshopper, our inner cathedrals: while speaking gibberish, and cursing densely, whereby, this ocean behind eyes: by warm waters, flushed with testimony, hacking up phlegm: albeit, crazy, as enough another cigar, looking forward to spontaneous joy.  I saw ape eyes, that inner confinement, that inductive existence: that garden diet, those infested furs, our memories at wonders: wherewith, this sudden appeal, as if Love is therapy, as if insanity is partial: that poly-amorous life, or that monogamous fury, at excuses for non-social characteristics: this playful gem, this astute lawyer, those myriad deliberations: (I feel recruited, awaiting cosmic laughter, outlandish enough to amble away): this trek through marsh, filtering wisdom, a lonely man so smart: it dies this way, peering at wilderness, so self-involved he can’t sing.  I have an ailment: I have a song: I flute with insistence: at casual pains, while choking heaviness, appalled by impetuous comments: this rowing island, this rafted heartbeat, this persistence called, make-believe: as women writing, scribbling between verses, while gambling for a fitted love: that palm of goose-grass, that tale about eating wood, this living love adventure: our freelance poets, this creative linguist, those cymbals becoming irritations: as thought this ache, if but this healing, while perfect our patience to exist: whereto, this ship of nonsense, this tale concerning escapades, that backstage pass a bit unexciting.  It was furious passion, as thought to feel love, this purely deductive mansion: as never so beautiful, that perfect scarf, that silken suit—wherefore, this inner gravity, this tugging heart, whereto, that disenchantment: (It becomes too much, our souls as animals, where competition disrupts fervor): that pale lemur, those radical chimpanzees, our earlobes churning: to watch as spoken, to reel as desperate, to infuse a rose with excited infatuation: as lives romance, involved beyond measure, while resented for passions.  I see a secret, that liquor aftermath, this cycling spectrum: that pivot of souls, those observant binoculars, this weary feeling concerning relaxation: as humans mourn, kissed with tulips, feeling this decorated jasper: our soft sorrows, this embedded essence, our seconds to admiring appealing bodies: that second’s rush, this heated brainwave, this alpha antenna: where returning is anguish, this film in aches, this synaptic desert: our casual cries, this enchanting derangement, or more that woman perfected at perspectives: this heavy sky, this carrying invisibility, this shift in resistance: our private music, this nut-cracking animal, our genetic dispositions: a bit torn by faith, while practicing religiosity, or arts to belief some tradition: our theorems about miseries, our melancholic rites, this feeling that compares to other feelings: as false correlations, while screaming our passions, where a misfire appears as reason to retreat: (our generations, our paradigm bonobos, or more, our resistance to divulge our unstable feelings: that perfect scientist, that mentally armored religious, this observant prose-character: our sex as peace-keeping, our needs for admiration, this appeal to egos in order to exist: those client relations, as reaching for intimacy, where trepidation revolves our therapeutic ornaments: as men living, while hectic this churn, to confide as losing our insistence: those calm orangutans, twelve feet afar, or that metaphoric sloth: this pudding with wafers, our last communion, our thumps knitted by emphatic concern: as, too, by love, but not to uproot, but more to confess that someone is watching: this sad second, this calm sorrow, this reach as losing its insistence: as balm convictions, those rules by existence, this precarious forest: our days to nutshells, our invoices with gods, this ecstatic feeling, while heavy with passions).                   

Eye-Eye Magi Genetics

It’s been some time, this vacancy concerning love, this sophisticated thicket: our screams as silent, this admiration, as inborn tyrannies: wherewith, this fountain, as, notwithstanding, this vinegar: our inner laughter, those mental earbites, our flowers knitted into concretive feelings: those sad dispositions, embedded by jewels, this crying ten seconds after love: our shackled wrists, those heathen alibis, those remarkable bars: as livid a curse, at thirst for passions, about crazy enough to proffer a firstborn: thereupon, these memory cameras, that Madagascar desert, this indri-lemur—as entities between continents, while listening to Tank, at features feeling familiar: our winter music, our teas and odors, our resistance to rinse by showers: that dry stickiness, those brisk hairs, this damage as seeping into dynasties: our wild natures, confining to societal rules, as never but love so gentle: this summer’s sugarcane, this symbolic mantis, our years to memorizing our stages: that mirror yelling, that eye-eye creature, this story as depicting our insecurities: that writing frenzy, that manic psych, this place as distorted appearing so casual: therein, this infant laughing, our mothers warmth, this remarkable ability to dissociate—that outer hell-cactus, those pools filled by diamonds, this frightened affectation. 

…if but congestion, this minute by seconds, this kilometer afar: those plant-hoppers, that leaf-litter, our musicality: (as love would analyze, pulling back bamboo, scratching into synaptic gaps: our dinosaur inheritance, this space where we advance, those questions disrupting equanimities: our stoic membranes, this scientific ocean, this scientific countenance: as fueled with beliefs, this casual elation, our yanks for tugs as seeming original: that thing we like, as if we sung, this capital classified with apes: our broken language, our Getty abortion, this giddy disposition: or women flexing, biting for clawing, demanding our courage: to see that beast, or bestial a dream, while piecemeal’n twigs: those gummy emotions, this gummy mind-swoosh, our abilities to rekindle that nonchalant icicle).

…we reflect love, dreary that birth, alive this magnificent curse: our fathers laughing, our barbeques simmering, our grannies at cigars: this movie in minds, this woman our tears, as so close our bones are breaking: that African sun, that European winter, this place in Egypt that vixen we disrupted: our Spanish friends, our Asian allies, this space in Asia Minor: that psychotic shoebill, that ravishing caiman, this woman as both: our effective remorse, our forgiving natures, this place searching by wholeness: as consensus demands, (the) best we survive, as pulled for tugged abiding by outward imputations: that fabulous creature, our scrambled eggs, seated disputing our green onions: as laughs a soul, sipping coffee, at accidental paradise: therefore, this reckless art, our American dippers, feeling for writing but losing reality.                       

  

…squirrels are flying, kettles are whistling, and Mary J. is crying: that soul so warm, those years so deceased, our pasts depicting our remarkable abilities: where love sings, as sought an aria, to fling a flute knee deep this piano: our brains disputing, this woman pushing, our limbs as one awakening with tremors: that inner Elias, those wilderness beadles, this latchet unloosened by love: this frigid man, this warm oxygen, our seconds to floors gripping shoulder blades: as sought our adventures, this professional lamb, our rabbis unknitting dreads—as fig tree trauma, this hex at magic that mystic—if but alive, cutting invisibilities, this disco magistrate: those water-pots, that miraculous wine, this feeling as winning blackened magic: this firkin waiting, this soul debating, our inner parents as governors by zeal. 

Genetic Birth: Our Crystal Swan

We’re licensed, Love, at acrobatics, singing for unsung—this glorious planet, those reckless cries, that torrent through islands: this land of abuses, this pardoned endeavor, our nights with fruit cocktail: as mere men, loving for broken, at tendencies afraid of mystics.  I loved for shortness, to retrieve scars, abased for chosen streaming our addicts: our resurrection, this mental plant, our buds speaking Spanish: if but graduation, as college was nervousness, this futuristic prophecy: our casual music, this inner background, those inner earbites—with Jezebel dreaming, as Elijah fore-cried, this puddle of poison by hounds: to exist as driven, to cuss with purpose, to announce as wailing resistance—such foul eyelashes, such dungeon-deep elation, our parents laughing by sins: that inverted curse, this mystic aflame, our arms reaching about touched by gods: that intense gaze, this promised paradise, our psychs seated aside fortunes: as Sahara passions, this lemur puffing, this monkey at liquor—our dying wolves, this whale upon lands, our mayfly revenge—as purposed chaos, that unborn child, this bio-divisive frenzy: if cut we perish, if dead we live, while abandoned our years by cheery-leafs.  We near grounds, listening by bells, this series of inverted chains: those lenient raptures, our grannies’ soups, our aches at tyranny’s rebukes: this portal adrift, this channel misfired, this microcosm genetic: as tears swell, this life to vestibules, that generous desert-core: as therapists march, resilient by deaths, afraid for purpose that hand to science: as obliged to surf, skating at waves, our palms filled with Jesus.  I followed demons, screaming for crazy, at Kathy with love: this feudal handkerchief, our days to taxes, this deep faux-pas: where mother dwells, this slight with curses, this dream with hearses, this force with verses: as laughs a cry, to cry a river, at shivers bleeding apparitions: that ghostly countenance, this fire-sure advice, our nights to doubts about as certain as Quixote.  I love a swan: I die with sentences: I’m staring at towers: as guns blast, as frantic kisses, while aborted a seed that sure return: that inner miscall, this rabid dream-wall, our Red Seas assured by courage: that silent missal, this silent friend, our hearts speaking our concentration: to drift while seated, to check for knowledge, to listen where mother appears sincerity: those polar ages, this mystic cub, our wings at moments to reappear: whereas, those wretched aches, this human sensation, our seconds to deciding if genetics are genuine proofs: that man dangling, that daughter with life-nets, that mother wiping as tears baptize Jesus.  I pace fortunes, screaming for monopolies, at tortures excavating this inner sewer: those seconds to sights, that pipe ablaze, our inner mothers fleeing apologies: that round courtroom, our ankles shackled, to dream for life this miracle theologian: our passions for words, our thrust through encyclopedias, this world of mystic gems—as dreamt a scar, to afford a destiny, where swans paused as deciphering codifications: this esoteric, as aborted to sins, where Father became Mother that certain baptism.  I live by curses, laughing by curses, at fair game attracted to curses [this brilliant dove, this inner daisy, this plethora of dangling souls]: if but for love, to travel Sheol, regardless or moral rightness: to feel so deeply, as damaged a slice, while afforded this essence to redeem: (to know for cravings, to live for deliverance, as charmed by new cravings: to live as emotion, to logic as feelings, to blend as checkers manipulate heaven-scores).  I love our rhythm, at purposes to extend this dynasty, where lutes shift symbols (as pyres celebrate life, as tendencies require inner honesties, as death becomes segue to stitch(y) elations).               

Ratio Boundaries

We need updates, at casual gates, feeling for flying—this inner leisure, this scope to brains, this feudal earthquake—as seaquake dynamite, as friends dying, as pallbearer agonies: that gram of weed, that line of heroine, this down south abrasion—as cursed a dream, to reside our spaces, where racism becomes second emotions.  I feel mystic, at yogis with illness, at psychological aggressiveness: those bones by sinews, this Alaska freezer, this mid-ocean sulfur—as jut a scream, this radical porcupine, our essence imbued by raccoons: indeed, a cry, laughing for falling, our parents to dominoes, [our mothers cooking noodles]: if but to arise, at love this swan, at stark inventions: to see these eyes, as cries our ratios, this winter’s allegories.  With hells to endure, this existential reality, at sixty-five days to darkness: our frozen motions, our frozen rivers, this ice-beige tundra: as men frigid, accusing roses, those eight months passed hibernation: that black bear, those snowflake beavers, this woman analyzing our beings—as crashed a whale, sailing into rituals, at blasted cadence feeling ecstasies: our chainsaw’d oceans, our jasper tendencies, this rosy-red kiss—at bliss with friction, at tears with realities, at graves burning candles: that inner lake, as pouring into existence, this fretted countenance: to see but brains, this fetid disposition, at twelve hours to fertility: this woman laughing, this man gunning, our hearts but moments to elation: whereto, erected tripods, this ice-shore Cross, this county of simplistic thoughts: to suffer anguish, as pure our warm-wars, as dippers through Americas.

Slow By Pace

I have Us, while cold to explore Us, for our tears were bred inside trees: this otter at reveries, this snail at remembrance, our classical science speaking sparsely: this inner orange, this outer purple, while steep in dungeons this conference with psychs: our tables bleeding, this woman demanding, our brains as shifts through frustrations: this ratio dust, this mental gut-phone, our seconds to calm fajitas.  I loved a dream, as associated with addictions, laughing for soaring this false phantasm: as by selection, this shoebill gaze, at strangers pursued by attractions: (as must to investigate, this mechanism of senses, to discover innocence by cadent Frisbees): our reckless preludes, our prima donnas, our prompts to principles unsold: this feathery quartet, this quivering mansion, our quintet regrets: as loved this life, so close your horns, our altars fraught with bloodshed.  I run by sceneries, lasting through cinemas, abased for low fermenting grapes: this shearing ecstasy, this mystic wildness, this rigger atrocity: wherewith, this shorn attraction, this inner axe, this shiver as confirmation.

Some Smirnoff Ice, some liquid dreams, some R&B—this fabric essence, this lovely acacia, this penchant suffering: at moons dying, at suns laughing, this miracle of words: to dig with succession, to crave fiery silvers, that man to twilights (that woman to deaths, this feeling as if all has arrived): our angry passions, our glorious women, as one said, “You’ll never perish”: if but ruined, abrasive with mood-swings, at disco this imaginative swan: to want with decencies, this lavish flower, as cut to hectic silence: this mother’s symphony, this inner keystone, this million dollar purse: where father glanced, as broken this levity, reaching through pockets to purchase that purse.  I saw apparitions, this manic spell, at cuts speaking through tongues: our Jhene Aiko’s, our Trixie liquor, our Hanna Reid’s—if but to whisper, Adele, to enchant Beyoncè, laughing for mourning our gray heavens: this man seething, as to wither during autumn, our tremulous disasters: for brains shift, as diamonds implode, where mother was gentle this curse.   

Brain Carnage

I spark a cigar, reading models, this gravid paradigm (those morbid channels, this gorilla fox, this Max Mara): as men craving, listening through graves, excited over extinct literature (those burning books, this partial page, our days at ingratiation): that soiled castle, that remote horizon, those precious cries—as lives our cultures, at mutilated genetics, at partial neurons: this scope by dreams, that wiggly butterfly, that super-sized roach: our cabinets bleeding, our mothers to headlamps, our knuckles to footlights (this model dreaming, this harlot at remorse, this curse as pursuing religiosities)—that strange feeling, that strange beauty, our reckless imaginations.  I nibble a prune, drifting through bowels, while rinsing diamonds: this fact at life, our murky mayflies, our relished swamps (as men reciting, or women at theater, reading this Italian play): that deep reception, as cried our arcs, where love destined a calling fatality—those wings wheezing, our rabid flapping(s), that eagle by kilometers: our British knowledge, our British women, that African American Europe—as dead beadles, or living lady bugs, either/or, this steep resentment: for youth is winning, while consensus is guiding, as age becomes this requirement.  I woke at cadence, to meet as disgruntle, staring at chiseled thighs: this made vixen, this Valentino model, those inner hieroglyphics (as men dying, while existent a curse, at births laughing with false excitement)—this mental slant, this relished rehearsal, those nine hours at studies: if but that test, to confess our genius, as opposed to this variance by approvals: our extraordinaire women, our debonair poets, that scientific countenance—as forever reaching, damn near asunder, pushing through psychotic dimensions (to awaken in Xanadu, fiddling an albatross, to awaken filled with rage)—that silent theft, our silent breaths, this silent miracle—as but a glimpse, our L’Oreal third eye, our ecclesiastic eyelashes.  We live as movers, rummaging spacial dusts, hand-painting dusky skies: our deeper twilights, this remarkable rose, our rays pining over swamps: this monster at tears, that sky-gavel crashing, and that attempt at inner compunction (thereto, this steep dimension, this radical rake, our sickles too dull for intuition): where dingo(s) gather, those electric brain particles, this jolt at sudden a thought: or more esoteric, a thought to heartbeats, where volts soon follow…to disappear, livid this hologram, gripping for dying at love with such desperation (our childhood aches, our palatial spheres, at ages becoming quite mechanical): our internet Paris, those bedroom islands, our souls cleaving for mercy: our restless minds, our B.C. enchantments, our A.D. enthrallments: as a puppy barks, cuddled by an infant—our eyes glossy (as memories swarm, our armor melting, a bit eerie, that sudden frustration): this essence watching, our inner computer typing, our hearts graded. 

[…some love as lost, I regret such souls, spacing through wetlands: to cringe intensities, pulled at mirrors, at love, feeling inadequate: this constant reaching, this tug at canyons, that leap he couldn’t take: for something lives, at necks our souls, while easily yanked: this need for warmth, this need for adoration, this hunger for centered stages: our caps with gowns, our mental tenure, our remarkable bodies: this threshing for thrashing, this intellectual deliberation, this angst tarnished by excitement: our gut-phones, this gutty ache, those rabid sentences: if agony comes, so lives this soul, attending to heart-flesh wounds: those gray cups, as series half-full, while feeling radically empty: to fly with prose, but hindered this light, where a second shifts deliberation: this want for ecstasies, this arch for horizons, this vestibule of existential doors: those wellic charms, that partial resentment, where sexual tension abides in all relations: our knowledge cursing us, our wisdom liberating us, our understandings as umbrellas by sorrows: as lives this dance, this inner ballet, this epistemological cadenza].