…pitiful
brown souls, and pitiful blue eyes, and pitiful night-hung humans: this febrile
fire, this lethal sea-rage, our crux so steep in mythologies: this need for
reasoning, this shadow as bleeding, where darkness seeps into soils: our addict
nannies, this poisoned system, this furnace fluid: at terrible confessions, to
wrestle rightness—so concentrated—at such terrible failings….
…i
portal feelings, this infant lion, this growling kitten: at crooked thoughts,
or righteous behavior, peeking aback for closure: this melting scent, this
painted candle, our existence redeemed by nonsense: this tale about tears, this
walking grave, this slave our arcs—as mere deaths, at sheer excitement,
afforded thus our brains: where abbess dreams, this slight temptation, such
reigning passions: to live exhausted, probed by sensualities, or pulled for
scorned: this rabid river, this sacred child, our years to Rome….
…i’m seeing
pigeons, this lavish profanity, this secular pearl—our driven pulses, this
ravished modernity, these post-grad utilities: our wine-lilies, our
vodka-tulips, this pomegranate gin—as blank souls, portraits afloat or pictures
as torn too silent—this wealthy mud, those sediment catastrophes, this essence
pouring into factions: our last tests, this court in Spain, our Mexican
prisons: as fetching morsels, or combing through musk, to arrive as cultured
carrying telic chains: this ghostly art, this portal daughter, this slight
wishing—if but for words, as segue dreams, to cut with force this scream: our
radical arcs, this undercurrent survival, this vestibule of Pisces….
…we
new impossible, we saw inconsistency, we drove our cranes: this flippant
flower, this faucet by agonies, this camera fleeing into crevices: this
self-deflection, this winter’s bullet, or those seeming this carrying land: our
hearts to defenses, our pastrami with chili, our days to eating bad habits:
(this passionate Asian, this glorious African, this vigil velocity: where plums
become juice, and pears become pudding, and apricots ruin this ancient scheme:
our seductive practices, this winner losing, our touch too enchanted to follow
ecstasy: [oh for beasts, our necklace whales, this summer fox]: if but to
relive, or rethink, or cut with silence: this heavy injustice, this portal to
graves, this fascinating catastrophe: or French Doves, this essence affair, our
curious night-life souls: this last wish, this first submission, this grand
total: at rivet arcs, this racy squirrel, to have loved while feeling
ostracized—this riddle decoded, this woman and creeds, where unsaid creeds
repudiated her dreams: this mansion fire, this mountain legacy, this trip to
mortuaries—our breathing woes, this shift in antiquities, this push-button
rooftop): our jeers to lagoons, our regrets to meadows, our fury thrust through
deer rivers: indeed, to fly, at private thoughts, as calculated as he
shifts—this brook of rhinestones, this vase of ink-pens, or this movie perpetuating
adultery: these subtle cues, this endless mind-escape, this furious fire—as
shattered skies, or revolting ethics, to cuss with time this woman’s agenda….
…its life and love
and screams and satiation: this mental exhibition, this skeleton goddess, this
madness as affecting psyches: such reaching energy, such rich assessments, our
brains connected upon a ghostly patio: this naked liquor, this rosy appetite,
this balanced disposition: as voices carry, where hearts are wounded, this
pyramid of egos: our sacred deceits, if but those smiles, while something
invisible strikes happiness: that false imprint, this field of footlights, this
favorable agenda….
