I
imagine you, this bright tear’d essence, this enchanting diligence: this song
held sorely, this patient uneasiness, this curly torn freezer: our bowels
praying, this feeling as indignant, this Ghost aflame our carcasses: our blue
shivers, this cold season, this release in Christ—as deep upon granny, or
seeping into gramps, this destiny red mountain: our fireflies, as soaring to
Jesus, this Buddha repeat: our bloody cries, this inner sentience, our blank
survival: that is, this testy feature, this unexamined life, this portal
surging through beige grass: our knuckles frozen, our guts imbued, while hectic
this mystic curse. I love as absent, I
repent such anger, I dance looking towards Yahweh—this immortal Spirit, this
Sprite towards existence, this enthusiastic riddle: our caved brains, our
endless insights, or this pillar too ostracized for freedom: that mahogany
wood, that oaken basin, this diamond as hails our indecision: moreover,
…this
cringing man, borne to insanities, while too sane for clearance: our broken
glasses, this island by swans, this daughter-ship—where mother becomes
burdened, peering through shadows, in need of deep therapy: this steep
religiosity, this spiritual guillotine, this immortal seesaw: as photic proofs,
this logistic life, as logic is held for sacrifice: our deep emotions, our
black ignorance, this supreme alimony—if but for passions, this writing
daughter, to see self in something slipping forward: our mystic delights, our
mystic nuns, this field of Carmelites—to die where God dwells, this favored
suffering, this inevitable sensation: our mental guns, this core army, our
battles as self-inflicted: to cuss at Jesus, while feeling remorse, as if sight
is foreign our gurneys. I
reappear,
after years at seas, our days to studying Poseidon—or authentic jewels, this
tale to Badu, those insatiable eyes: our souls bloated, our dreams framed, our
visions skipping ropes—as built for destruction, this war with fate, this swan
at deliverance: those Versace screams, this meal with Satan, this struggle as
shifting verbs: that remote sandcastle, this inner mansion, or this feeling
attributed to kitsch: our blood blue silvers; our squeezes bleeding love; our
one hug distorting intellect: (this soul for justice, as it favors mother,
where this break in self is sure to peek).
I fell asleep, as God becomes souls, this strategic essence so far asserted:
indeed, this theologian, speaking to choices, this prolife existence: as far as
lives, this ghostly texture, this keyboard gravity: our Fig Newton(s), our
chocolate milk, or this sullen disposition: (for hell has called, where love
should prevail, while private thoughts rupture dynasties): this Confucius
enterprise, this Asian Wisdom, or our great grandparents: as inner ancestors,
or blatant kisses, this dream infused by interpretation: this vest at life, our
dear perceptions, if but to erase negative senses: this portal he lives, this
agony she ignores, this portrait as so untrue:
…to
exist with shadows, this topaz hip hop, this mental threshold, where daughters
must approach: this melic granny, this topic grandpa, this black existence: as
mulatto souls, or quadroon realities, this struggle for identity: where both
are raging, as pushing towards corners, while freezing sensitivities: that is,
this war upon cultures, this forced deference, this place for curly haired
giants: our bowels to prayers, our guts to Jesus, our eyes as pleading to know
certainties: this abstract world, this deep deduction, this too superficial
induction: those graves with science, this war with religion, this place as
livid: if but
by
essence, this worthless apple, or more by resilience, this restless life!
