Mongolian
beef, a fist full of Egg Roles and a pound of Chinese Rice—our shrimps with
passion, our dreams with cutleries, our arteries rejuvenating: this simple
life, this simple attraction, this easy disenchantment: our rivers galloping,
our women playing sheik, our women playing coy: those robust cries, that robust
laughter, our phlegm causing our discomforts: this amazing height, this loud
drama, this flung soul saving honesties: our restaurant outbursts, our wines
with grapes, our messy pomegranates—this flinging woman, this cryptic position,
as two feeling self-aware: this pain for glory, this glory for pain, too deep
as psychotic elements: this fault in men, this callous drunk, this furious
lover: our tears becoming bodily, our bodies becoming liquid, this meal as
sensing disconnection: those almond grits, this courage as dissipating, this
feeling person as seeking reverses: this compassionate cheetah, this mental
hippopotamus, this fleet-footed ferret: (if but for ruins, as bled his guts, if
but for prose: this woman watching, our hearts skipping, this volt to volt
communication: our Beef with Broccoli, our subtle scents, this Adore as clicking valves: this immediate
beauty, this longstanding interrogation, this Purple Atmosphere: as
plural thoughts, while comfy with existence, where lesser souls bleach reality:
this dying maniac, this inhaled charity, this panting gazelle: such dogma, such
insincerity, such livid lightning: to casual those thighs, as adrift this
tension, where Prince brings catastrophe: this inner dimension, this dynamic
dolphin, our luxurious travesty). …it was hell those years, this swagger
coasting Rolexes, this stuntman failing his first leap: this Bentley madness,
this million dollar flea, this aging Atlantis: to sense Jesus walking, this
Peter in souls, this Magdalene pleading for wifehood: as sheer obsession, this
chemic undertone, this sheer distrust—as hating self, afraid by mirrors, this
conscious aspect: our movies upon repeat, our photographs as mental, this
delusion as becoming insanity: this blinking nightmare, this caring
catastrophe, this intimate psychotic: our public circles, our public memories,
our souls as lifted into balloons…. I
feel contrite, I live with wings, I ponder souls too at voices: this
schizophrenic, our dearest granny, this sophisticated fly: this private
tsunami, this distinctive mother, this vicious soul: to love grandson, to adore
his guts, to hide this evil tendency: at current sips, laughing at pains, while
conversing this inner demon: this violent essence, this compassionate essence,
this fool too at charge to go nutty: those old years, this talkative roof, this
television dispersing ninjas: that green snake, those trinkets with spells,
this mother obliterating any remembrance of father’s participation: to come to
reality, while entrenched in deaths, to cut a slice of boiled ham: our darling
crushes, this gothic thought, our second as vampires: this year to thoughts, to
want with vengeance, if but this tender maniac: our eyes to see, our sights to
eyes, our ears manipulating thoughts: this old amore, this score for liquor,
this traveling across state lines: as bent and crazy, as needing ten grand, as
known for pushing pages: this fool for those, this fool as levity, if but to
cut a slice of Barbeque: this brilliant observer, so entrenched in reality, to
sense this genius finding his fever.
[I saw a swan, I met a queen, I drifted accused of treason: this fervid
mystic, this ardent mystic, or but this man ignoring this sailboat: our yachts
bleeding, this caviar with sentimentalities, this Ferrari racing too fast to
live: our guts with wildfire, our intestines craving the wrong damsel, our boutique stores smelling of antiquity: this
Jewish symbol, this terrible position, if but to cross destiny staring at
vacant eyes: this feeling for dying, this drowsy feeling, or this essence
remembering it felt insanity to love numbness].
