Apocrypha

I sense unity, combined a saber’s gaze, fleeing into fantasies: that warm embrace, that primeval ecstasy, this upright man: our biochemistry, this bear-dog voyage, our palms leaking blueberries: as cries a soul, pitched in blackness, affected this plague of bestiality: our mammal instincts, our haywire computers, our lifelike daughters: this mystic music, our abrupt classifications, as to announce racism: this dire-wolf, at souls with promise, our nails a tear to longnecks.  I passion with deaths, at courts with lawyers, at breaths with vengeance: this pale woman, this pale pride, our dungeons recapping realities: this field in brains, this Erectus soul, this claim to infinity dying its exits: as men living, while cut to dominate, this fiery terror-bird: wherefore, abrasions, at love those cries, at oceans those sea-scorpions.  We eat reptiles, this fine delicacy, our bones ingesting instincts: this gravel speaking, this novel as silent, our cryptic novellas—where mother was shy, this Credo-spirit, those years to Bourbon Street: our prostitutes, our rivaling sentiments, our crystals and loud liquor: while daughters ingest, if but this soul, those tales of amphibians: to grieve with panic, or slice with vacancies, while agaze’d flitting through tempos: that hour dying, that glass melting, our phones becoming internal: those microraptors, or dracorex brains, famished for Hogwarts.  I love a swan, this ballet as prose, this woman as mystic—our watching hearts, this steep affectation, our crimes for love at gated walls: this gut alarm, this gut saxophone, our perishables flinging instincts: that man cringing, his guts filleted, our canvas consisting of guts and bones: that Roman color, those Greek philosophies, this positivist curse: if but to breathe, our theodicy by rules, fretting for frittering our frantic free-agencies: that turquoise pond, those sable eyes, this hazel configuration: our suns as cubes, those cubes as existence, to passion unto exponential chaos.  I love a swan, debating our moral fiber, pleading for dying hands by salvation: those hallway mirrors, that hallway portrait, this child as affected for infinities—those railroads, this pitched bright affinity, those capitalized scar-births: if but we sung, as enlisted to Nam, while proud a fix but shell-shocked: this atheist wisdom, our plural nouns, this man as but forsaken’d: that grandpa dream, that grandmother’s aches, this son to fire as adrift blue horizons—our morbid carnivals, this shoebill clown, our houses haunted but humble—where mother cliffs life, at terrors those foreign arms, while Japanese wits cleave to honoring our swan—that soul aflight, those lights to curses, this fool running through caimans—as lives his arc, this bark beneath seas, this leaf barely atop her ocean—while rulers confess, this lake but sulfur, our years disputing purgatory.   I ponder delights, as to conjure affections, where soreness has ruled this kingdom: our inner Beethoven, those child prodigies, this Mozart slant: our cymbals clanging, our chimes as voices, this cat purring with resistance—if but that moon, to dine this essence, where both realize our harvests: indeed, to dreams, indeed, to passions, while gas affixes an inner cathedral: those minutes with thoughts, that second with disdains, this photographic diary: as children to sandboxes, or manipulators to helping, if but this music cemented upon temples: our rabbi grace, this rabbit as transformed, this irresistible swan: to die at shivers, while resurrected in Ghana, fleeing for favored afloat a thousand kilometers: that red essence, those red highlights, that enormous elation: to befriend a snail, that fragile shell, while feeding a caterpillar: wherewith, those five books, this tale as slung, whereby, a brain disappears: to erect a fortress, this mental encyclopedia, our hearts about wired to triple thumps: that volt chasing, this demon by lights, this somber nightmare: as Pentateuch magnets, this mountain by olives, this wreckage by dreams: our swans swimming, our swamps swooshing, our solitaries swooning: to love as dying, our last vows, as Holocaust has become an enormous Empire.