…this
inner soul-carpet, this red rug, this violet fly: our waiting hostilities, this
thrill-me-now, to curse upon lemur
wings: our leaping lutungs, our flitting geladas, or hell to dynasties this
love for mystics: our burning hearts, this foolish wish, this Skinny Popcorn—as
sifakas scudding or black widows spawning, this inner parade at travesties: this
swan-lake, our dry Australia(s), our moist fires: as blindfolded blinking, this
charging Leo, this retreating Libra: at flight with foxes, or spinning with
aye-aye monkeys, or eye-to-eye with furious women: this dream so subtle, this
man so ecstatic, this calm disposition: as ruled for outs, this baseball
frenzy, this sketch of feelings: our Raphael portraits, this maiden in
perfection, or this hunting animalistic nature: at dehydration, rummaging this
cactus, while singing with dung beetles: those trenchant waters, this trenchant
tale, our queens ambushed amongst our wildlife: this romantic kiss, this Peter
Pan rescue, this mermaid daughter—as men fall to Precious, this hellish
contempt, this repeated argument: this scissor’d universe, this perfect image,
this want for that perfect performance: our steaks with onions, our potatoes
with gravy, or broccoli with garlic: indeed, this night, wrestling at
Natalie’s, or hawking for languishing upon this Australian beaut: our jealous
frenzies, our Jewish gorgeous, or
this man pulled with aesthetics: this harmonious grave, those years screaming,
to cut silence with scythes: at dry thunder, at somber sips, at radiant
mystics: this yogic charm, this yogic harm, if but to find this world of
immediacies: this fire devil, this warm sauna, this flaming tepee—where Love
was ambivalent, while teary to deaths, at curses screaming innocence: this
diseased fool, this pushing frenzy, this sudden realization: this pendulum of
vibrations, this inner tetras life, to piece pieces while confessed as one
distorted: this humorous life, our leafless oak-brains, this cedarchest filled
with mother’s memories: our cobra infatuations, as meant to hold composure, to
find with lessons this midday catastrophe: at nomadic thoughts, at nomadic feelings,
while tugging backwards to explain essence.
[I met pythons, I died laughing, I came to senses this ointment to
scars—our days at poetry, our nights at reflections, this quadrant of flying
souls: those kilometers, this rapping frenzy, this cut to mid-brains: this
never-for-life, or our women wondering, while spewing venom: this fair game,
our bowels with blood, our guts upon pavements: this monsoon existence, this
gust of morals, those ethics sacrificed: those tarsier eyes, those perfect
bangs, this ache for one that has lost appeal: at terrible confessions, this
inner macaque, this outer academic: as so careful, while losing life, to sit in
abeyance: that instant ruined, this lose as chiseling, if but to drill an
ocean’s ridge: that blinding sulfur, those blue ice-cubes, this whale flopping
upon desert grains: our hearts smiling, this infuriating high, as natural as
one emitting through substances: our tamarin fruits, our mandrill hostilities,
or more to existence this want for amoral creatures: this philosophic, as built
upon temperaments, where one ponders their best interests]: our vervet monkeys,
this aesthetic glance, this astute breed: while thinking nature, to realize
primates, while hovering over this monogamous sentiment: our Aristotle(s) at mind,
this high reasoning at skies, or better, our children up against this warfare:
this violet hamadryas, this sharp instinct, or this passive long nose
proboscis: if but this life, or to skype our ambitions, if but to love as
perfect at every second: this curse for humans, this ability to compose, this
capacity to follow monopoly: as riveting acrobatics, or daredevil daughters, or
mothers longing for a perfect history: this crazy thought-process, to mourn
this misunderstanding, while cleaving to perpetuation: this feud over
standards, this Maria dancing, this energy at wants—to misguide feelings, to
rapture at cloud seven, or to possess a perfect session: this rapid machine,
this rabid ache, this feeling where souls die as unachieved—those highbrow gazing(s),
this highbrow theologian, or curses separating our sentiments: our baby-boomers,
this seventy’s braw fire, or more, our writhing consequences.
