We
gain in fire, along this mile-hike, our seams becoming leopards: our dreams in
agonies, our wrenches pressed against flesh, our pliers yearning for
immortality: this aged warlock, this pagan festival, or better, this mirror
sudden into manuscripts: those high bones, that slender stature, this Bentley
engine…where brains visit canvases, or saliva trickles acidities, while blood
is bluish-purple: those whales flipping, those raw dolphins, this
intercommunication: this likeness as passion, this Infinity alike to higher
standards, those portraits peering at up-side-down windowpanes: those Obama
eyes, this wayward daughter, this immortalized emotion: as confined in caves,
while wailing in madness, our cultures taming our inner monsters. (…we lose while grinding, this lack of
assessments, this picture void of peripheral aspects: this immortal chase, this
immortal island, or better, this immortal self: at present fires, pulled
inside-out, and edging into those cryptic talents: our Elvive epistemic(s), our
dreams in Paris, our hijacked philosophies: this candid vessel, this trenchant
armor, this purring maniac: these comedy lives, our liquor with depression, or
our blue-beige pills: this trial to function, this mesmerized petition, to
invest hope in one difficult to breathe…).
I lost senses, accustomed by strange behaviors, while unloading our
freezer: this assorted artistry, this unthawed steak, this wheezing chicken: at
resuscitation, listening to television, while watching ninjas leap into our
living room: this tableau of cartoons, our Daffy index, or this sudden gestalt
realization: at battle for years, feeling unstable, while responsible for
lives: those indecent realities, this pearl black bible, this swan too alive to
seat at depression: our stolen larks, our amazing arcs, or this fever purchased
in blue pills: to sudden upon dementia, to lose all he never owned, while time
mended in brief seconds: that war for sanity, that chitzsu and bride, this
trail through Santa Monica: those wild realities, this scented air, this
seeming heiress. (I learned dismissals,
this challenge to undergo, where heaving bodies count for so little: this
blighted garden, this infestation, or our dearest allies capitalizing: to
ignore souls, while heavy at treacheries, to carry so little with tales of
responsibility: our public luggage, this frantic feeling, this churning fire:
this wavelength corridor, this vestibule psychiatrist, this obstinate room
depicting this sophisticated turtle: at lives with gavels, at gavels with
abstracts, where judges look different close and personal: our dreary
perceptions, this businesslike maniac, or better, this potential to destroy
humanity: while adrift a scar, this sub-genetic, while forbidden to enter
America). We adore innocence, but
slow to preserve it, while fathers wish for daughters Da Vinci’s brains—and
Malcolm’s depth: this time in space, this atmospheric exegesis, or better, this
mental game of physics: that dear woman, as never dreamt, to enter while
abating hemorrhages: our lot, Love, this craving activity, to find deeper
thoughts in private: that wheel tilling, this tillage’d meadows, while sloths
eye-eye our testimonies: this curious creature, plotting for examining a son,
while cursed that lack of reach: wherefore, this courage to trek pits, this
endeavor to unlock souls, this crime in becoming our Jesus: wither this sand,
and wither those footprints, and wither those perceived loses: to ask for
clarity, where this swan is wise, this creative growth through resistance: this
sight beyond contemporaries, this ability to uproot kernels, or this long advice
that many will never hear. I owe life to
calamities, this fair exchange, this root permeating fifty percent of
compositions: this swan at lakes, this swan at ballet, or this swan at religiosity:
to become this force, stationed in realities, to aid a friend ten miles afar:
at esoteric babble, or pure conviction, or experiential facts: this secret in
souls, this ability to perish, this reality to resurrect: as gifted souls,
seeking gifted treasuries, where granny might sing this song: (our hearts at
fire, our mothers cooking, our fathers at banter—).
