…early our gifts, with souls to
accomplish, a tear spacial this flame: such edification, eliminating herbs,
while attempting poetic glaciers: our moonbeams, our rooftops, and this
hankering for Precious: at
lighthearted rambles, feeling Disorder, as
literal and meta-gristle: this metaphysic, this roaming storm, or this body
building Amazon: our lusts winking, our souls slinky, and our women fond of spaghetti:
this mule in winter, this Don Quixote, or this powerful essence named,
Cleopatra: our years as bipolar agents, or
anxious observers, while Haiti produces irresistible angels: this flight to
Congo, this lyricist explosion, to meet one similar this hidden self: our telic
splayed, our hearts melee’d, and this vicious creature our bowels….
…it dies softly, asearch for edification,
while looking and laughing in disguise: this dead river, this flowing
antipathy, this Anglo-Protestant: or Catholic Souls, angry with causality, and
angled towards submission: this rich beauty, this deep simplicity, or an entire
life reading few scriptures: our base as bleeding, our funerals our observance,
and this resilient mouthpiece: as cursed with fevers, or rambling in Siena, to
perish born alive this anxiety: this running liver, our souls liquefied, or
those days sniffing this cue from orchids: this sin he loved, this woman too
but vapid, to adore as living God’s curse: our brains to liquor, our arms to
reaching, as granny would die claiming normality….
I sense Damascus, this road paved in
gravel, or this dirt patch amidst our city voyage: as cries destiny, this
morbid creature, our hearts speaking some language: (to amble your guts, eating
Satan’s desserts, to want this feel slighted womb: such frigid warmth, such
watery furnaces, or this sky bleeding beneath earth: as cursed and driven, to
infuse a legacy, to open an Academy: our seaweed flights, our desert ambitions,
or this conversational camel: where mother laughs, as preaching prophecy, and
strictly rebuked by our prophet: this one eyed man, this limping through
corridors, this prolific artist: to cut bone, to drain this cactus, while
terrified this mountain upon high—our fluid bowels, or guts set to ruins, to
fly abroad laughing with Jesus): these tales about moonshine, this image so
close, to awaken gripping this mirage: this small creature, those sable
legends, to kiss with time awakening to dusk: our borders cringing, to invite a
lie, as to realize love is at Love: this beaming meadow, this galloping mare,
as enveloped in false betrayals.
Let me live or courageous this death, where
father knew and forfeited make-believe: to ravish church, to angle our graphs, or
somersault our inventions: this conscious crowd, this dying crowd, where
charisma becomes inverted: at blue music, or tender skin, to crawl to one
disenchanted: at raptures dead, at curses living, or at lagoons sipping
dung-leafs: this miracle in blood, this feeling as dying, this other as
invading: our hate as sippers, or observance as aphorisms, while grandpa has
clutched for falling into pure acidity: (at riverbeds projecting, at estuaries
debating, or at Mecca drenched in pure ecstasy: this craft with reason, this
ache with treason, to assume countenance in fleeing eagles: our managed
courage, this scientific, to slice with religiosity—this essence in concrete:
those flaming arteries, this flaming chaos, this biblic drunken sin: this empty
crib, this daughter carried, this lie I failed to exist: if but this woman, to
attend to better days, while a fool relies upon pure audience: to evoke one
promise, these open wings, or this farm of chicklets: as mother screams, this
falling for grappling, those walls as pure indifference: these short sentences,
this revving insanity, to ignore this person becoming a monster: our brains
shivering, this sleet withering, where ice-gloves have evolved): but time to
goodness, and dreams to fools, to realize this Paulic Reality: this vest of
tongues, this answerable cherub, and this pull towards something mystique.
