…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).
