Torrent Fury

It keeps beating, through multiple deaths, as found alone our apish eyes: that kissing eagle, that shell-lost crab, our awakened dead sentenced souls: our moose grazing(s), our electric guitars, our attractions where deserts are gnats: our fur screaming, our bowels flooded, our music inverted: as casual peacocks, or sluggish porcupines, living for crossed attempting demolitions: that lethal womb, that fatal call, our seconds to kingships.  Our camera’s dialogues, this volcanic oil, this mystic daisy: our childlike amazements, this pouch weeping, our rabid kangaroos: where love laughed, as feeling excitement, our souls vexing us to tell our stories: that inner amplifier, that eardrum cello, this voice creeping into audible chains: as loves a man, aching caimans, while wrestling this shoebill psychotic: our legacy therapists, our gibbon primates, our magic-sky psychs: where mother advances, those tarsier eyes, those tiger shark fangs: as mandarin honey, or banana nutmeg, fleeing for sighted attempting escape: this wretched fleece, this inner jerboa, our cries failing upon deafened sands: this father watching, as never a lost child, unable to empathize with our black travesties: this chocolate mystic, those cellar diamonds, this floor-bed filled with red ants.  I cry as alive, I die as witnessed, and never such grief as mingling with ignorance: those purple eyes, those blackened pupils, those parent trees.  I held a frog, I captured a tadpole, I ran for coverage escaping one last dream—that inner lizard, that calling dinosaur, this inside museum: to keep alive, cut through Greece, laughing in tongues: that righteous Spanish, those African heartbeats, this Asiatic wine-keeper: that slimy mold, this inner centipede, that ruby caterpillar: as men crawling, affected for ruined, at defenses protecting our ruthless mothers: that psych easy, that psych reaching, that psych cutting: as arising in memories, this distorted picture, where a black mother appears as Jewish: our cold liquor, our banished brains, this addict feeling as reliving her son’s absence: while seated nearby, afloat a thousand spells, our arms reaching for something inverted.  We nibble fungi, laughing without voices, spacial for alert at sign language: that pink river, those clamping lights, this music chiming about distorted with tears: that intimate violence, this morning’s mother, that song disappearing with father—as mystic juice, roaring with Sia, at conflicts lusting for magic: that fallen theologian, that manic psychologist, those on-seer secretaries: our overseer madness, this kiss where all was flying, this snail as speaking Italian: our frozen concrete, our seeping women, this aesthetic rose bleeding: indeed, sawing luxuries, as blending daiquiris, while attempting to omit a daughter from tragedies: this moon deigning, this sun collapsing, as never we die as tomorrow’s wishes.  I flew a pulse, I ate a mantis, I became a shaman: this dream as livid, those thighs as crazy, this touch as aborted: that rushing sensation, those guilty instincts, our years to selecting death-wretched soulmates: our hearts threshing, this mother reaching, this therapist igniting—that cave-terror spark, those terrorizing instincts, this pleasure with retreating as afloat by falcons: if but to breathe, this thicket of feelings, our wants for essence that keeps with infinity: as dying lovers, or rekindled affairs, while at too much experience: that dreamy satellite, that inner flipper, our resurrection thoughts: as portals screaming, or women defending, while broken that curse: indeed, with silence, that mental litter, while attempting to redeem reprobate souls: as water by cactus, or elbows wailing, our thrust through life tasting nectars.