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!
