…we
chance like deer, we prance like otters, our courage lives by forces: this
incorrigible love, this hearted blight, this musicality: our langur souls, our
orca brains, and this stingray agility: as bats to summer, our search for
darkness, while roaming interior caves: this thirst for existence, this tall
building, and our aches knitted by existentialism: if but to panic, as
realizing passions, to encourage by rites such insistence: this blue belt, this
bible thumping, or this invincible cry—as craves for moreness, while agitated
sorely, to find as found this lack of interest: such volcanic sulfur, our icy
heat, our scissor teeth: as temperamental squid, or lascivious octopus, while
reading our latest text: at minus zero, ever at searching(s), about our seas as
urchins: {this miracle sacrifice, this cursed soul, this bleeding damsel: our
eyes laughing, our eyes mourning, our feelings as telepathic: this evil grin,
this shabby retreat, this incantative grin—our windows peering, our squirrels
frolicking, this stoat composing: our Beethoven writers, our animal poets, our
plankton novelists: if but with agonies, this stiff assistance, or this sober
grind: our walks with darkness, our years with holiness, our brains inverted
while depicting sheer energy: as men running, or women leaping, or our waves
feeling us with tremors: this troubled seal, this ocean by oils, this spill
intoxicating our furies—as livid observers, this world by silence, to sit so
close unsure of our status: those harpoon cells, this neuronic exploit, this
kiss so far that dungeon: as living blankness, to remember fun, this
unadulterated child-curse: as stinging our souls, while courage insists upon
belief—that many are living that good
existence: if but by naivety, or this deep persistence, as reality creeps
insisting upon travesties: those miracle smiles, this dungeon asthma, our
marine exhibitions}. I tend towards
love, this man failing at love, for nevermore this reckless understanding: this
engulfed station, this gravid feeling, this inner telegraph—where abstracts
become joys, as concrete becomes a glance, while hurt has ruined credulity:
this feast of burdens, this apologetic, this stranger repenting for an old
love: this prison war, this internal melee, or more, this inverted observation:
as analytical pegs, this dart racing, our targets maneuvering: those Christmas Tree
worms, this steep agitation, where minds wreak havoc: those emotional
parasites, or this terrific person, while wildness calls for exhilaration: this
mountain by ibexes, those lemur fundamentals, or our giggling dolphins—as
remote beings, this censuring mirror, this mental compass—as tugging our guts,
if but our human instincts, to realize our behaviors: as civilized souls, or
lascivious souls, where behaviors must maintain some sense of structure: our
cavy hearts, our romantic charms, our reaching(s) where age has become a
dominant force: indeed, with thoughts, our temples achy, our cuttlefish
dynamics: as needing art, if but such eloquence, our living rooms that centerpiece:
as deadly this wolf, or deadly this charm, while glances shift realities: this
musical symphony, this deep enrapture, or those Caribbean arms. {…we science this way, attending at life, as
partly selfish: while not to fear, this sharing of selfish desires, this giving
for responding: our mural fleece, our mural sleeves, our passions cemented in
determination: this need for a response, while edging our suitors, to fall to
chaos a bit disenchanted: as unfair giants, this land of chasing stoats, this
forest of rabid rabbits: our angst, our rapacious appetites, or this season for
longing eyes: this song etched—upon those silent waves—upon our cellar
graves…as immediate loses, while fueled by unreality, to imagine that cheetahs
chase forever.
