…a
little to deaths, a vacuum to moons, this bleeding becoming internal—this sun
laughing, this cut scraping, this facility mangled: our psych tables, our round
investigation, this slight infection: those broad dangers, this hurting for
self, this feeling disguised in appropriate behavior: those blue nylons, this
blackened darkness, this burgundy hair—as men frying grits, or baking chitlins,
those gizzard brains: as panicky fevers, or harmonized emotions, to feed self
an imperfect picture: this field of thighs, those remarkable hips, this feeling
as mutilating intestines: those brows laughing, this exotic curse, as but a
neckline fiddling with Venus: this personality, this trillion dollar hat, this
ferocious dialogue—as tortured with brilliance, to feel so nonchalant, where
science has become personal: this diehard damsel, this diehard climax, this
incredible ten diary linguist: if but this wave, as struck an inner nerve, to
swoop with songbirds: this crackle for pops, this grackle for flames, or less
to earth driving onto sunset: this gnat plaguing, this granny watching, this
daughter to pyramids: indeed, geometry, this fleet of Jews, this abuse as
claiming our guts: those rubric eyes, this mental estuary, this clown bathing
in lavender—this curtain rising, this curtain falling, our exchange as
something formidable. […it’s been
hell, living this secret, afforded one last opportunity: this catastrophe mind,
this blatant lawyer, this flexible tornado: our leaping deer, our ravished
cheetahs, or this passive lion: to gut a fever, our dire texts, this man too
involved to see Neptune: as bleeding sensations, this woman’s blood, to sip
intoxicated by vinegar: this pelf to aches, this pilfering reality, this
plunder for goods: our crying passions, to want but forever, where capture
becomes this fleeting with time: (to ask for credulity, to fear resistance,
while claiming for hearts a miracle cure): this tendentious curse, this Alicia
Keys, or better, this yearly arrival: to post his brains, too thread his guts,
to read of this stranger: our dreams in bottles, our islands upon graves, if
but this satisfaction hearing dynamite: those yellow bangs, this mahogany mane,
those brunette curls: as auburn tendencies, or this pantomime becoming vocal,
to enchant this soul longing for Elizabeth: that man running, that woman
running, to set a lap running clear through infinity: this lash and cut, this
voice and number, where souls collide feeling explosive]. I empty glasses, while smoking cloves,
while pondering this psych: this elusive man, this distant force, this reality
as plain as hidden: this cryptic gut, this yogic essence, this mystic flight:
to love with heaters, this fuel to Christ, this mystery disrupting brains: this
marvelous human, this incredible person, this sight advances towards
catastrophe: our days to longing, for desire those moments, while cringing this
long sprint: those deep conversations, this feeling desiring humanity, this
proud disposition at love with existence: this woman’s arms, this woman’s penchants,
this wistful intoxication: this majestic high, this magical exchange, this
flower pouring forth our libraries: as men dying, if but to live, at races to
capture something so with time: this living afflatus, this discerning allegory,
this inhaled epiphany: where mother speaks softly, as gramps cuddles a child,
where daughters look as seeing infinity: this cold winter, this warm autumn,
this leaf upon a miracle: to drift with essence, while gripping science, where
hearts are covered with arrows: this yanking for breaking, this harpoon
laughing, this distance as set towards eternity: this death as miracle, this
miracle as death, to sense this goodness in here for now: those angel eyes,
that deep brow, these features as hunting those years: this model dying, this
professor gawking, as each wishes to exchange domains: those aesthetic calves,
those aesthetic ankles, this man but minutes into prematurity: to live this
existence, as existential jewels, while coming to justice a hour before
curtains: this rosary woman, this perfect card, these entangling arteries—where
Love is treasured, and Love is torn, and Love becomes something running from
treacheries!
