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
