…at
terrible conclusions, at baffled genetics, at reasons to forgive: this primary
vessel, this mental castle, this Polaroid image: our aches cemented, our
mid-fuses captured, this sudden volt returned at mid centimeters: our balanced
sorrow, our melancholic alcohol, at guts laughing while teary: this cryptic
outlook, this mystic microphone, this internal beeper: too much pride, while
wearing Glamour, our seconds inhaling
dust-mites: those miracles fleeing, those cameras re-fusing, or brains to Xerox
our frontal lobes: at tragic concerns, this daughter’s testimony, this shot as
lethal: our bellicose rivers, our bellicose attitudes, or better, this woman
fuming hell and acting with courage: this bride of scale-damage, this father of
delinquents, this mother her mile disappearance: at lakes laughing hyenas, at
church laughing hyenas, or at graves falling forward: our roots to guts, our
palms to soil, our minds to concrete fonts: to hear it screaming, this inner dungeon,
this essence yearning by deconstruction: as constructed miracles, our ghetto
portraits, this museum picturing insanity—this inner clock, this feudal
machine, or art to shivers this voice: at chairs wheezing, at lungs addled, or
torn for afraid peeking at mirrors: to glance for seconds, or stare for
minutes, to then wink with satisfaction: this red panda, our mice gated, our
women mating…. {…our cobweb-skies, this
bottle of spruce, this liquid rosebush…this old feeling, this weaving Penelope,
this man his books: to read a section, while jotting notes, to imagine blacks
etching our margins: this rude soul, this need for control, this river of aged
manipulators: this retired nun, this new Abbess, or this confidential
Confessor: as lives our lies, as abandons our cores, to realize a forced
situation: where nurses guzzle, and barkeepers guzzle, and Jesus guzzles: this
heaven-wine, this rich licorice, while Mary pushes a son’s debut: our latte
mornings, our late noon cabbage, our mid-moon-catastrophes: this mule laughing,
this fool to mimicry, this ambivalent essence: this middle world, this quadroon
reality, this mean father: while father should acquiesce, for daughter lives
through rugs, while stepfather says less as days pass: this matriarch position,
this granny musing, while private conversations speak to deep resentments: but
more to laughs, and less to outbursts, while behavior must be suited for
priests: our aerie pirates, our aerie hunters, or better, this aerie
heart-crane: to shift with thoughts, this purposed agony, to feel as eye-droop:
this tiger moth, this spider bat, our waves as becoming prolific: this
intelligent countenance, this scientific response, or those persons
specializing at calm composure: while father cringes, for laughing out silence,
to rent a documentary on foret flies…}.
*…serenade winter thorns or cry summer anguish, where autumn is deep
reflection—this complex simplicity, this angle bleeding, this fool as nothing
but conversation—where butter could drip, or oils could simmer, while hell to
longevity: this brevity life, this brief anything, this tale for our father’s
royalties: this daughter to memories, this sister to animosities, this
difficult position as thinkers: this land of loneness, this country of writers,
or this cul-de-sac of poets*: to dream for essence, to perfect that style,
while pilots fight for venues: at extra-concerns, where nothing is sacred,
while others are stripped of innocence: this Federal passerby, this State
Official’s laughter, this Anti-Presidential Election: our brethren dying, our
kids in cages, our Jews in Concentrating Camps (1942-1945)—this Japanese
Detention Camp (1942), this Black Diaspora, this inner slaughter, or this
present day Mentality: our years at
substances, our years as Communists Suspects, our Heads Drilled to Read our Thoughts: this trusted adversary, this
need for insistence, this pardon for all but glory: our cold glares, our
evening apologies, our morning cigarettes: this latte with bagel, this bagel
with cheese, this cheese as striking mucus: our shaves with liquor, our women
as spectators, our psychs as seeping into consciousness: (while others rarely
enter, this furious observation, at wonders concerning mental telepathies: this
American Lateness, this India Capital, or more, this rice with sardines—while
attempting at laughter, too worn for wear, or too abused for normality)!
