…our
reluctant skies, as reluctant perception, arguing about reality: our dreamcast
hearts, our mobile feelings, our internal parachutes: while craving ecstasy,
our rush to engage, our thirst for guarantees: if but with Love, this
unpredictable creature, our terrible inner sanctum: this whiff by ambrosia,
this tale about mental thieves, or such neuronic pressure: to shift through
darkness, appalled by behaviors, as, nonetheless, knitting unsaid behaviors:
those foxy eyes, or that stoat’s agility, a glance too enchanting: our memoir
crushes, while laughing in private, or fantasizing about revealing
reluctance…. We decorate passions, such
remora energies, such playful gallantry: our barren pride, too close for
escape, too real to ignore: this feral behavior, this thought to conquer, or
our gazes upon grape lollipops: to slither at seconds, while planting nested
seeds, if but to grip false reality: those beige khakis, those innate khakis,
as if pasted to skin—this dream to undress, as if this sealed virgin, as if
this explosion with chimes: this windy atmosphere, those racing dolphins, this
television cinema: such essence by life, such grizzly attraction, such death
this anchor yearning by freedoms. I’m
watching bats, as thoughts explore enchantment, to appeal to an inner instinct:
that first touch; those soft galaxies; such sensual rainforests: our casual
yawns, our playful habits, and that image tickling our morals: as women sing,
so artsy this stage, so remorseful our pleasures: this vacuum with lime, this
tender lemon, and our recharged phones: this ibex maze, this cunning fox, this
riveting lake: as sought for comforts, while rejecting life, our days to
sketching sunshine.
I’m
living seas, and evergreens, becoming rusty: those adolescent charges, as
distant screams, this space in weeping meditation: those charms so evasive,
this tale so elusive, our lives chasing with Pac Man: this symbol as
reminiscent, this sign as explanatory, such deceased desert destruction: those
delicate hands, that delicate neck, our palms tugging cheetah cries: if but
those forbidden days, those forbidden waves, this agony ravished by forbidden
entry: those remorseful eyes, those dolphin eyes, and our Camus instincts: if
but to ostrich our lives, where time becomes boring, where souls voyage this
purgatorial landscape: our memories hunting, our radical comparisons, this
grass-cutter fungi—as laughing for comforts, while mourning through laughter,
to need so much from one person: our demanding nature, as reaching this segue,
to demand homespun perfection: where lights are young, or bulbs require
replacement, as this tale of southern sights remains prominent: our prehistoric
abrasiveness, at just that instance, to rave as if Love was destruction: this
palatial image, this palatial body, those palatial brains: indeed, this orangey
grass, that familiar scent, those damsel cries.
…that
orca brain, those Dracula fangs, those extensive retorts—as soul gliders, or
tiger-snakes, or loyal friends: this space for truth, this world by values, this
mystery we designate as, Love: this voltage fire, this scenery underfoot, this
intimate firebrand: or intrepid undergrowth, notwithstanding, thoughts, our
pools infested by dragonflies: our metaphorical brains, this taste for
aliveness, this incredible essence rebuilt weekly: this favored battle, our
inner person, this feeling, this passion, this ringing phone…. We feral our thoughts, so enchanted by our
actions, while far too ecstatic to release control: that Australian hair; that
African hair; those El Salvadorian seas—our relaxed exchange, this analytical
deepness, this pausing if but that dilemma: our days to reading, some
destructive chap, some ingratiated soul: our senses tugged, our winters
defrosted, our seeds planted diligently.
