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).
