…such
hidden gloom, such dying roses, such deep instillation: this full Christ, this
conflicted sinner, this abandoned resurrection: our deep blues, our jazzy
sorrows, our mystic relations: this fretted capacity, this glowing countenance,
this instantly suffocating room: our defensive glances, our moonlit children,
our slight envies: this robotic response, this rabid air, our castles built
upon green sand: such innocent delicacies, such lemon insanities, or our souls
writhing this committed wind: to die while inhaling, to grip a palm of pills,
to bemoan this air of nicotine: our bowels resentful, our hearts tugged, or
this grin suggesting dishonesty: our cozy souls, to rekindle our first years, to
sing with deliberateness: this rapacious woman, this insatiable appetite, this
tugging where sin is bashful. (I touch
this agony, while screaming this love, where music is such sweet forgiveness:
this aguish for beauty, this artsy elocution, this breeding hound: our colorful
language, this British charm, this European wit: this African tribalism, this
pierced membrane, and your majesty embroidered upon mental planets: this
sitting moon, this walking beach, this glass murmuring: our sacred passion, to
relocate this essence, to find with tragedy this inner treasury: this palm of
blue-jays, this throat to speak, these frontal lobes beaming with ecstasy): as
delicate creatures, too skilled for converse, too insane for retreat: this
romantic agony, this forbidden lust, our arms reaching where Osiris dwells: if
but Ms. Isis, this glamorous damsel, this sister of sins—our aching intestines,
this river of vomit, this uneasy agitation—to struggle our voices, tugged by
fantasy, and dying to flee justice: this wicked sunrise, this longstanding
kiss, our souls demented with rectitude: this jasper grass, this fluffy hay,
this accentuated waistline: those rejected hips, this wood-oaken scent, this
endless star-chain: as souls blighted, so close to annihilation, so far removed
from our last argument: this rosy charm, those sinful thighs, this sinful
feeling: as finding our courage, if but to sing, this valley painted in
turquoise: those trimmed begonias, this reckless neckline, those remorseful
eyes: as moments feel life, while seconds induce challenge, this unbearable
dream seeking reception: our casual dance, this inner saxophone, this restless
piano: our mourning lights, this palm of dew, this reluctant shower: as dies
our souls, this dream in gold, this passion as slipping its reigns: where
canines bark, or growl while eating, to find with time this canine’s
uneasiness.
…time
becomes relentless, this French undertaker, this Cambodian sharp shooter: our
silent Rembrandt, our dearest carnivals: this wide-eyed invention, this
imaginative dreamscape, this dainty warrior: our souls to deepness, this
darkness permeating, our wheels rolling into sunsets: as miracle souls, so
lavish our concerns, to pamper with ease our passions: this partial moon, this
daily sign, or those soundless symbols: where music dances, this late night
cartoon, this plate of honey-melon: as sensibilities shift, this fair compass,
our remarkable sensories: this want for horizons, this reality facing our
dungeons, or this cat purring in our laps….
…it
was bound to emerge, this frequent visitor, that abrasive shift: this ladder
mocking, this paint slathering, this canvas laughing at pressures: this fork
for salads, this spoon for icecream, this melancholy for deeper thoughts: this
Jesus for redemption, this Father as mastermind, this Ghost as remembrance: our
steep insistence, our tugging at feelings, our rich communication: while
looking at existence, while seated as reality’s settees, while knitting our
resistant morals: this lawyer’s conscience, this judge’s ulcer, this monk’s
religion: as souls flying, feeling electricity, while cautious to take notice:
this world of songbirds, this motive unbeknownst, at serious frustrations: our
casual routines, our casual approach, or this fiery stepstool….
