I
tried this life, feeling like abused, sifting through ivy: this hallowed bird,
this rising phoenix, this zealot gymnastics—as enlove with dangers, this fair
queen, our innocent binoculars: that scream running, this gut grinning, our
mass mischief: as divine castles, this type by history, to enter while failing
by gavels: this horrendous beauty, this terrific house, this warlock and
wiccan: our chewing insights, this sipping with grace, this opera Oprah: at
tales with Prince Harry, at dungeons with The
Color Purple—as aster fires, or walls speaking, or lilac sherm leafs: this
buried soreness, this muddy blood, this suture to palatial wounds: (where goodness is yours, this sentient spark,
this jasper grass: those ceiling glasses, this see-through mirror, this Idris
Elba—as legendary survivor, or strict partialities, or numbing
water-prints—wherefore, this wretched hope, as living our shoe soles, or
plummeted by resistance: this music million, this trillion silence, afforded a
nation of Mandela’s): in truth, to die, relished for insanity, this offbeat
dejection: this leaping puma, those amaranth eyes, or this maniac attempting at
something normal: this casual grace, this defaced legacy, this mental
abandonment—as foxes to hens, or foxgloves to children, or this inner beautiful
prison: our un-dreaded scalps, this scorpion
love-ship, this essence recorded by Thich Nat Hahn: as purely amazing, this
African estate, or this slight ingratiation: (this tortured laceleaf, these freesia extravaganzas, this intimate lacewing—whereto, our people cringe, as
needing this life, to avert with time our length by succession: this groomed
pearl, this magnolia vice, or our winters putting others before self: this
political battle, this satiric theater, or this path screaming its fire).
I
often sound white, this excruciating battle, this spacial appropriateness: our
torn perceptions, our shorn hypotheses, or our theories driving our insanities:
this absent prenuptial, this living by faith, to appear as riveting this
wrinkled hypertension: this reckless bi-racial, this terrible mulatto, this
frozen quadroon: as marching queens, suspended at sunrise, or casual this
Stephen Hawkins: those terrible passions, this terrible kiss, this terrible
future—as fraught by gifts of valor, or harassed by blood-genes, to fret this
hall of chains: (as something unraveled, this maniacal atmosphere, this
marigold army—where providers dance, as granny merely gazes, to know by gut
this astray reality: this rich break-through, this intimate future, or this
palace always defending itself): whereby, this lack of trophies, this kingdom
of wives, where only a few are considered royal: indeed, with pains, indeed,
with heart-scents, or more, to passions this mind-silt—as ruined corners, or
raging bulwarks, or this mother’s choir—to self be justice, this tale about
divine intervention, this asexual Spirit-Raindrop: as moving winds, or index
enchantments, to die with time this classical mythology.
I
handle venom, while sensing delusions, to have this art as reflecting by insecurities:
this lethal disease, this cabinet crisis, this chilled Cabernet—to fuss with
dreams, while pleading for clearance, this Freudian feud: while running
paradoxes, this conduit of souls, this pristine ripple: as ballad fools, or
window believers, partaking of holy liquor: this keyboard existence, as typed
into, to commit something atrocious: this colony of dead rivers, this bleeding
into Poseidon, or this telegram to Buddha: as souls failing, as thoughts
tortured, or sleet becoming vocal—this stunning volt, this haunted ghost, or
our unfastening nails—at works with forgiveness, at deaths with excitement, or
felt for intensities: (this black bird, while guarding our graves, to thirst
for light with Eve: this broken triumph, or The
Pride of Cain, or our mothers seeking alimony: despite, this dearth by
souls, this absent interaction, this greed-charmed saliva).
