…we
seduce graces, if but through memories, by classified insanities: this wintry
torque, this inner buoyancy, or clever this art of thieves: our rescheduled
affairs, our brains in coffins, or complete resurrection—as losing self, designed
to perish, where souls are flying: this May Dream, those frantic months, to
come through wars shushing our souls: this grand piano, this mental guitar, or
days at reciting our prose: this hard atmosphere, this ridiculous nervousness,
this pitch in intonation: as wolves channeled, or coyotes howling, where our
audience is structured by analyses: this radical brightness, this
incandescence, or this iridescent moon: this fluorescent flower, this exotic
peach, or thoughts to persons we haven’t met: this field of images, our Kings
with Queens, as, nevertheless, we sit alone in ages: as prehistoric brains,
this motion dinosaur, or this ethical shoebill: our human instincts, our human
emotion, to find an elephant mourning over a dead calve…. I’m sipping early, reading this mongoose,
while curious concerning Mongolians—this treasured cave, this telling
petroglyph, this particular warrior: as Anglo Phantoms, or galloping into
deserts, at years conquering perceptions: this moon-blue redness, this tank
through frontiers, at armies discussing life with ants: this inner portrait, to
confess those eyes, a bit to lakes those mahogany screams: or mother be good, this tale of dynasties,
this immortalized adversary: to live in brains, at cornered introjects, to
confess that souls are a bit askew: this wading frenzy, those old soul-folks,
or this song bringing hearts to remembrance: where Love is golden, at tears
these years, to confess a piece of self went psychotic: those porcelain veins, this eclectic philosophy, or theologians
running for captured by greed: as built in essence, to need more of Yahweh,
while ingested by particular occurrences: those Zen Galaxies, this Hindu
Prince, or aches to souls this manipulative
master: at terrible cries, longing for existence, to realize that deceit is
often by justice. (I met a mantis, We
conversed for hours, It turned its head and I struck: I met a cobra, This
living meerkat, We parted with venom: this crescent arc, this inner earthquake,
or this silent, exclusive, atypical argument—for eyes seeing skies, or skies
enveloped in eyes, our screams by our daughters arteries: this genetic spin,
this genetic curse, as resilient children missing our existence: this web of
violence, this deep camouflage, or this pantomime approach to trauma: our
wellic and telic hearts, our clarinets bleeping with sleepiness, whereas, it
felt good to flee injustice: this flying tern, this nasty pelican, or this list
of bottom-feeders: our plankton highs, our human octopuses, where tentacles
appear a bit offensive—but hell to arts, while beauty becomes prolific, our
days at studying this feeling: this wet storm, this whet chaos, this siren too
self-conscious for us to approach):
hitherto, this slight undercurrent, this internalized stream, or wisdom to lights,
if but to suspend judgments, while pondering this one jewel: at attic cries, or
mathematic scars, while algorithms seem askew: this relic at arms, those jetted
souls, this lingering upshot: our jimmied sentiments, our jutted feelings, or
this insatiable craving for one that appeals to imagination: this jimpy curse,
this machine gun frenzy, at creeks pitching quarters: those light browns, this
cavy blackness, or trauma to souls a bit involved: this realization, as
siphoned through tears, to imagine this slight indoctrination: those angry
voices, this sheer indignation, to absorb something scientific: that lack of
trust, this doubtful enterprise, or this realized savior: but deep our
religions, or reaching our spirituality, whereto, our souls are ravished and
catapulted: as tender our beats, this core interaction, this relished
inter-discipline, as intra-minds, or intra-slaves, while Love agonizes of
pretenses: this sun-beat life, or those European allies, where Jewish Laws
erupt into conscienceness: as beige arts, or jasmine eyes, to invest life into
a scattered dream: this fretted fever, this foreign flight, where Italian women
appear by sexualities.
