We’re
prehistoric, this daughter’s screams, our blankets fiddled in dung-bars: this
iron masterpiece, this welkin centerpiece, this chief of disasters: our casual
heartsores, our drumbeat Asians, this man more to her than I. I laugh with sorrow; I dwell melancholic; I
arrive as settled in tempest joys: this miracle soul, thrusting his agonies,
cleaving for lost but faithful: our scattered attics, this garret of ambition,
this Brutus Enterprise: to die as wicked, or wicked unto holiness, this granny
pleading her son: our cavy sensations, this picture by Essence, our musicalities—as scheduled for deaths, to reschedule
graves, this divine clock starring at grand-lands: if but to cherish, this achy
reality, our days fraught with lusts. I
sought with vengeance, as unsteady an adversary, while courting academics: this
inner brochure, this rosy manicure, this steady anxiety: to sense this face, as
embedded in memory-glands, our arteries filled with infatuation: to perish
lovingly, while guided with theater, this nation flaunting, Improv: our leopards to anguish, our
eyes to greetings, this peace in sanity as losing its boundaries: as
exospheric, or generic genetics, whishing upon a floating leaf. (I require an opus, this dream escorting
love, this swift reminder of psychoses: as men frigged, or woman exotic, at
turns to imagine long-wilderness: this width by angst, this city of betrayals,
our musing mulct’d of insanities: this rare pleasure, this immortal Friend, of
more worth than reality: that held palm, those immortal cries, this off-keyed
sincerity: our A’s as Y’s, our tails as heads, our brains as plural: with such
force, as to ask this legacy, if but to exchange a life of comforts: this
foolish man, this genetic rivalry, our intellect dependent upon agitations). I’m primate richness, at lands this
procedure, at terrors our days as short: to ruin for eternity, while reaching
for roulette, to possess such ecstatic excitement: our jimbre dying, our souls
revealing, as portraits fall up beyond skies: this man to dreams, this woman to
logic, as two emerge scribbling masterpieces: indeed, with tales, indeed, with
passions, at truths, forsaken to destructions: our violent arguments, this
place for psychs, our hours rekindled as swooshed for emotions: that frantic castle,
this deep invasion, our cities under-siege: to amplify deaths, this eye-eye
profanity, this scientific meadow: to recite her story, or to know her brains,
this leniency afforded our betrayals: to cut with controlling, while
controlling, nonetheless, where a person becomes silent aggravation: this
bleeding insanity, this Christic insanity, as such organic insanity—as
dialogues drifting, or Catholics shifting, or tears to drums invading our
earlobes: that inner nutshell, this remarkable sex-life, our mornings to
rejuvenation—to greet with silence, this salacious exchange, while doubting
with clarities: this trick by minds, this inner compass, our whales created
through insecurities: to have such knowledge, while falling steeper, our
boulders crafted by mental-glasses. I
speak to Us, as mere our fortunes, a
smidgen too present during waking moments: that excitement lost, that feeling
of old, our spontaneity splattered afar—as yearning directions, while too
cautious to sing, our sheer shock at living karaoke: this jealous frenzy, this
silver-back gaze, those ruminating eyes: as fretted psychology, or breaded
archeology, feeling a bit too poly-amorous: wherefore, we sink into
proprieties, we recite our mother’s words, we wander as internal slavery: this
iguana leisure, this tank of snakes, this fiasco of solitary: or more to
resistance, fleeing for fled, at passions upon mind-grass: this shift in
perception, this candle as membranes, our neurotransmitters playing
Monopoly.
It’s
been years, this untold venture, this cryptic chaos—as leading into days, this
absence of force, this courage to about-face: our treasured homes, this
treasured if-ness, our remorseful whatness—as fleeing wrongness, by those explored, where guideposts signal that fatal
entrance.
