…such
casual, debonair tides, this loose existence, this existential panorama: our
furious guts, our remorseful woes, this time too early this collapse: to dance as if, to come to treatises, to die
while resurrecting: this pentagram, this apocrypha, this uprooted bishop: our
dreams by boats, our meals by gates, our hearts ruined for pressured: this thin
woman, this strong woman, this ruined existence: (for tides are permanent, this
etching into characters, this casual disposition—as flushed nonchalance, this
cynical reality, this gravity tugging upwards: our inner music, this bestial
symphony, this ill-gotten cadenza: our harps, our whistles, our enemies: this
running faucet, pouring its venom, while hell to souls that struggle: our
banished hearts, this lovely creature, this ruthless machine: at porticos
pleading, at horns tugging altars, or more, at Jesus asking appropriate
questions: to flee by wretched arts, this kingdom beneath sewers, this dream in
purple and white: our flailed flesh, our flogged brains, this space in
purgatory): if but to exist, this tarnished sanctuary, this stress dependent
upon experience—as reaching ghosts, where mother dances, this seven year old
convert. I sense a swan, this language
repeated, this essence seeping through religions: our guts restricted, our
brains seeking homage, our insistence to survive: this world by tyrannies, this
harsh reality—so young realizing those particulars unsaid: our downward faces,
this upward pride, this confusing reality: those adult voices, this deep
resistance, this child emerging as this swan—our caged soulprints, our instant
angers, or this freezer becoming metaphorical: our writing frenzies, our last
converse, this star that mirror: as born to waft, to scud and fly, to flit and
demand—this courage by rank, this passion as mother’s, this calmness as wisdom:
our forefather’s bleeding, our terrible nightmares, this sheet as quite a
quilt: this slew of mystics, this inner triangle, those explosive glands: to
channel with time, to grovel when necessary, to attempt this serene atmosphere:
such ambience, such as pyramids, such as Hebrew origins: to float as Asiatic souls,
to visit this mental providence, to administer therapeutic tactics—if but to
breathe, while harnessed by realities, to sense this self emerging where
something has fled: this castle of thieves, this purple passion, this inner
eye-glint: such acrimony, such deadly curses, this un-polite existence: as it
rarely repents, as continually trekking forward, at seconds leaving Jesus
behind: this welkin Buddhist, or this Catholic sibling, our years to removing
our first sins: or Protestant sinners, this pride this room, and our darkest
insanities: this catered persistence, this fear to let go, this reality pushing
this evaluation: as men tinkering engines, our women rebuilding transmissions,
or daughters yanking for demanding this inner entrance: our abrasions winking,
our days as shallow, our nights as too deep for comforts.
…we
sense this life, this imperfect existence, while insisting upon perfection:
this lying mirror, this mere perception, or this honest and affectionate
mirror: our souls moving, our rooms widening, our ceilings evaporating: this
base of training, our inner responsibilities, this parent removing obstacles:
if but to exist, this pragmatic reality, while balanced enough to remain
spiritual: this deep compassion, this terrific science, this cage flung into
nearby fires: our metal melting, our minds liberated, our justice resounding
from mountain tops: this slight insistence, this day with judges, this book as
recording every decision: this day at life, our steepest passions, this ability
to justify every action: our idle tongues, our loose language, our hurt feelings:
where two danced, and harmonized gently, while living our freedoms: this small
bundle, this fair tale, this unimportant reality: for perfect is sought, by
imperfect souls, where study and diligence are shunned: to eschew works, purely dependent upon grace, while free to do as we presume:
this slight rant, this deep soul, this daughter as a reflection of likeness.
