…on
trial internally, whispering pure redemption, and so much for dying: this
acidic feeling, this acidic tear, and years at torments: this phantom lying,
this ghost laughing, our aches to koi-fish—and dungeons rebuking, staring at
justice, to mimic a scoundrel—this cosmic voice, this inner arc, and those loud
cables: as pure pain, our thrust for Africa, our years in Europe: this
stand-still America, those Asian cries, or purple as something intimidating:
our guts by music, our beats by denim, or Prada esoteria: where passion is
tender, this bag of fish-feed, or this package of admiration: our achy spines,
our laughing women, or reputations dependent upon hiding skills: indeed, those
closets, this mental armoire, and terror as wombs to cut through oceans: those
bridal eyes, this internal war, to give life to one under-graded: our diamond
tours, our Versace pearls, and, moreover, this delicate creature at wars with
militias: our tatted membranes, our gutty alibis, or tears to windowpanes: this
curious butterfly, this ragged dragon-friend, or threshing(s) peering at golden
rakes: this poison in grass, this nibbling maniac, to awaken to Love screaming:
this igloo ache, this igloo heart, this hut raging through Vietnam: our mimes
whispering, our pantomimes puffing, or days at limbo: this park-bench, that
straightjacket, or those padded rooms: our child’s embarrassment, or pure
elation, while tugged for failing and feeling good: those statuesque eyes, those
elysian eyes, those inquisitive, talkative eyes: to infuse Jesus, as nearby
exhaustion, our apologetics for something unseemly: at gut battles, or
diarrhea, or spitting up phlegm: those remarkable legs, those undercurrent
thighs, or years to hating your guts: this running dead-man, this intervention,
this doggy dog existence: as dogma laughing, our country simplicity, our
Grecian features: otherwise, at treachery, or laughing with Madonna, our inner
world quite personal: this professional sex, this lavish life, or years too
young for authentication…. …we’re
sick creatures, provoked and dying, if but three nights: at mnemonic kites, or
Rihanna lies, while tugged by resilience—this tarot faith, this carriage of
feathers, or days so gone speaking with Elijah: at no-where prose, feeling at
something split, where Love laughs while killing a daughter: this fugitive
voice, this hostage heart-keep, or this terrified kidnapping: at voltage
regardless, at treasures, despite whispers, or feeling good writhing internally:
this aphotic Alcatraz, this attractive inseam, or this California panacea: our
unknown selves, our inner encyclopedias, or this life-giving inrush: to see a
picture, and feel a stranger, where psychs are head to swords: those steep
regrets, this aesthetic redemption, or immortal etiquette: where passion dies,
as purely analytical, while suffering desiccation: or erectile problems,
looking at inner demons, or a second so engrossed Fed are running: this package
of pills, our ineffable dreams, or lacing for puffing and crying their caskets:
this gift to souls, our mortal goals, while hating for Love despises herpes:
that tore lullaby, those quiescent voices, or passages to graves enslaving our
beloved: this lilting Lilith, this academic woe, or present resistance: as
erstwhile creatures, sipping Levert, and blazing our liquor—peering at
costumes, our opalescent women, so involved with desecration: those scented
blankets, this gift for seduction, while a man runs deadly attempting to court
Calypso: that dangerous woman, this selfhood phantom, or that inmost cinema….
…we
laugh with timidity, we ghostly a spell, at evening eyes—those lizards gunning,
this machine-salt, this winter’s curse: as blames thrown, but character lost,
while onlookers percentage a scent of reality: this fine music, this fine
damsel, those controlled legs: our nuclear Holocausts, our Jewish gates, or
this New Jerusalem: as discovered song, this rivalry sentiment, those anklet
cries: this aglet muzzle, this moving magic, or tears to love a bit chaotic….
